


Portrait of the Spyhunter as a Young Man

by ToasterBonanza



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Various Authors
Genre: Body Modification, Cardassia, Coworkers as Friends, Cybernetics, Dominion War (Star Trek), Expanded Universe, Friendship, Fucking Machines, Gaslighting, Gen, Government Agencies, Group Therapy, Horse Shoes and Atom Bombs, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Not starfleet, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Robot Sex, Spies & Secret Agents, Starfleet, Starfleet Intelligence is Not an Oxymoron, State-Sanctioned Torture, Telepathy, Time Does Not Heal Wounds, Torture, government work, intergalactic diplomacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-09-28 01:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17173160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasterBonanza/pseuds/ToasterBonanza
Summary: Complementary piece to "Piper At the Gates of Dawn."The inner workings of government are opaque, and layers of complexity only obscure them further. Amid the lattice work of the Federation's government emerged a project to further their goals, a project meant to do great good. This is the story of the one who gave himself wholly and unflinchingly to this cause.No one meant any harm. It just...happened.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In thinking about this story I wrote, I realized that I made it pretty dark and maybe a little darker than necessary for something in the Star Trek setting. But given the current direction of things, I decided the importance is about bringing out the things we've come to like about Star Trek. There is some pretty heavy moralizing and philosophical debates and some degree of sausage-making. That's what we do to de-escalate conflict and avoid war. 
> 
> So consider this a kind of longing for the Star Trek that may still one day be.

_Vevi Chiaaso gave her four guests nourishing soup to warm their bellies and souls from their journey. Already she sensed their questions as they reviewed what meager information they learned._

_“How do you know him?” asked one of them. Not certain which. Through no intention of their own, they invaded her brain—no, one was deliberate but weak in execution. Still, all voices swirled in her mind which required more vigilance than usual._

_“We met through work.”_  
\----------  
His soft-soled shoes whiffed with every step, the sonic reward for weeks of practice to silence his stride on every surface. Another month would reward him with near absence of all sound. Next, he must practice with dress shoes.

The doors parted for him to enter the windowless office of Deforest Chiung

“Sir, you asked to see me.” A young man like him, they warned him once, need not speak with formality. Doing so could compromise one in dire situations. When in the safety of colleagues, old habits snapped back with the force of a tight spring.

On his feet with some stomping, he extended a courteous hand in greeting. “Nikolai, yes, thank you for taking the time.”

“’Mr. LeVanne’ is enough, sir.” He kept his back straight with hands folded at his tailbone, all in the service of better exuding respect for his superior.

“Well, yes.” Chiung frowned the moment he leaned on his desk. “That is what I wanted to discuss. A few things.” He coughed and added, “Field Analyst LeVanne, your performance has become of concern.”

“Is, is that a fact, sir?” he inquired through his teeth.

“To start, you have committed three known Though Infractions in the past twenty-four hours, and not your first set of quick-succession infractions. You have not attended your mandatory training yet on Mental Shielding, and we end this quarter soon. Your colleagues reported the infractions which speaks to concerns about how you use the Consortium-approved techniques outside of your work.”

Adjusting his collar would distract him from thoughts of any rude gestures. “I am been working a great deal to complete deliverables for our timelines,” he flatly countered.

“That is another thing, Nikolai.” Chiung already was ignoring his request. This was too familiar of him. “You are attempting to accomplish far more than we expect of any Analyst.” His eyes narrowed. “As a favor to me, be truthful. Have you been going home?”

As a favor. Chiung had no right to ask. “I go home everyday.”

Not a satisfactory answer, it seemed. “Are you sleeping there—”

“Sir, I do not see the relevance.” He went home for everything else; sleep came easiest on his office cot.

Chiung leaned heavily on the desk as he searched for his words. “My concern is with your habits of late. You passed the tests and screenings needed to clear you for field work, and since taking on those assignments six months ago, your behavior has changed.”

That was what field work did to people. It changed them. “I have followed every physician’s recommendations and began psilocybin treatments early into the assignments.” Nightmares only occurred now once a week, warded away by an invisible comfort his office could provide but never his home. The intervention had done everything promised for the harrowing effects that field work had promised.

Chiung recruited him four years ago and remained a consummate, courteous professional—a man that Nikolai respected and even, in the man’s best moments, enjoyed. But he also discussed his subordinates’ personal failings with too much diplomacy, too much coddling. The line of questioning already offended him; Chiung did well to get to his point as quickly as possible. Nikolai prompted him, “Sir, for the nature of our work, I believe that I am conducting myself well. The Consortium places enormous demands on my character, and I have met every expectation.”

He rounded his desk so they could be closer and effect some aire of friendliness; Nikolai recoiled. “Your hard work is commendable, but it is also concerning. You are taking on more and more and while you have yet to make any mistakes, you cannot work this way without end.”

The key to ending this conversation lay in finding what comment would allay his concerns. “Well, sir.” Think carefully. “I do have leisure. I dance at least two hours a day.”

“Yes, yes, I am _quite_ aware, and it is by pure coincidence that all of your leisure activities also support your profession—” “Then what is your point, sir, because you have taken me in—” “—You are logging more hours than other analysts—” “—and when you recruited me, I made clear that I wanted a profession—” “—you keep committing thought infractions—” “—that was greater than the sum of my life—”

“ _Goddamnit_ , Nikolai, people who work like you are on a path of self-destruction!”

He retorted through his teeth, “Humans, sir. Our other field analysts do not suffer from such frailties.”

Both belonged to a minority in their department, a fact of which they were reminded everyday through the demands of their positions; the Consortium barred no one from whatever position they deserved, but their department remained ill-equipped to properly support either of them. When the department was founded, no one expected humans to ever join as personnel. “Yes,” he said quietly, “Yes. And, and I could never punish you for doing what is good for the Consortium.”

Standing a foot taller than his superior—or almost anyone else in a room—made it hard to not leer and crane like a vulture in these conversations. “Sir, then _why_ am I here?” Out of habit, his arms now folded across his chest. Everyone said it projected his authority better, a funny little thing since the Consortium had yet to grant him any authority of his own.

A simple posture change on his part shook the truth out of Chiung. “There is concern that your work habits come from…a _relish_ of your assignments.”

More than offend, the words pained him.  “Sir.” Nikolai kept a cool tone and fought the desire to cut out Chiung’s heart with a careful quip. “Let’s be frank. The assignments in this department can end in murder—”

“—Eliminations, Nikolai, for the purpose of—”

He would tolerate no more. “Do not, sir! Do not presume to know the inner lives of your field analysts!” They were toe-to-toe, and now Chiung was the one who yielded space. “It is murder, and I will not euphemize taking a life. The hole created by the absence cannot be filled with a decision sent down from Ethics proclaiming that there is no other option, or a letter from Field Litigation proscribing the legal means of committing such an act. It is what we do and discussing it in true terms is how I make peace with the work I am provided.” It felt good to voice these facts after the initial turmoil of his new role. It still tore him. To call it in service of A Greater Good would not grant him absolution. Morality is a fickle creature.

Chiung raised his hands in both surrender and appeasement. “Please forgive me, Nikolai. I. I should have known better. I still needed to ask.” He went back to his desk. “That we are human is a disadvantage in this department. We must do more with less.”

He found his ease once more. “I agree, sir.”

“I appreciate the frankness, and. And you are right. But, I cannot shield you on the Thought Infractions. The telepaths here have come to me with protests about you. They want you out of the department. One even threatened a reevaluation of both our credentials.”

Neither could afford a reevaluation which acted as simply an excuse to humiliate a colleague in front of their peers; a dissection of every decision ever made, professional and personal, and the consequences therein. No one ever survived one with their path through the Consortium unaltered. He had no choice. “What,” he asked with resignation, “would you have me do?” Commended in his old department for his ability to compartmentalize, the new colleagues commented on how easily he overreacted. The fact that either had lasted in this department for so long came only by way of the own tenacity. But no matter how much of themselves they gave up, the truth remained: it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Chiung hit the comm button on his desk. “Doctor, are you in your office?”

A feminine voice chimed back. “Yes, Deforest. I already know your request.”

Moments later, she stepped through the doorway. A short and stocky woman with bright eyes and elaborately tall hair.

{You have a terrible habit of not being able to keep your thoughts to yourself, Nikolai}

The voice in his head belonged to her, but it put a chill in his spine unlike the calm and unremarkable one over the comm.

{You have a terrible habit of walking where you should not.}

{Only when the door is open.}

He forgot about Chiung until the man snapped his fingers in his face. “Nikolai. See, this is what I am talking about. You are too susceptible to telepaths. But Dr. Chiaaso is a specialist and I had approached her before about creating a program to retain more humans in the department. You are an excellent candidate for lasting so long without—as I know now—showing signs of mental deterioration, and you have followed every instruction on your health that the department has provided. Clearly, it is not enough, through no fault of your own.”

The look and sound of this did not bode well. “This is for surgery, right? Surgery is my only option if I want to stay.”

“Yes.”

 “Sir, may I weight my options first?”

Immediately, he knew. This was his last lifeline. Chiung’s expression said it all: the DNA they shared as members of the same species bound them closer in this department than any two colleagues. Giving Nikolai time was a grave risk, but one that his superior would take for him. “You have one hour. I cannot give you more than that.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Your credentials may be reevaluated. Possibly mine as well. I cannot predict what will happen.”

{I thought you knew by now that choices for humans in this department were an illusion.}

Better to speak aloud. “Forgive me if I have no clever or dry wit in reply.” At her frown, he smiled.

“Well.” Chiung opened the door for them. “You should continue this conversation in the doctor’s office. You need to sign some waivers before the operation.”

As they filed out, Chiung added, “Oh, and Doctor?”

The delay surprised her. Or perhaps, she feigned it quite well. “Yes, Deforest?”

“He can be a bit of an ass. So, if you want to kill him, do me a favor and wait until _after_ the operation.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gentle warning for readers: contains descriptions of death and dying with mentions of torture.

_She added some spice to their soups as she replenished their hand-sized bowls. “He was enthralling when we met. Humans, like most biological life, are contradictions. Easily damaged but hard to kill. He knew the limits of his body, so he made up for it with his character. The program for cybernetic augmentation—a ruse to protect a departmental asset. Him.”_

_“But why?”_

_“The Consortium exists with only two purposes: knowledge and stability.”_

_“Yeah, well, so what?”_

_“Some knowledge is too awful, too vast for one person to keep to themselves. But that was what the Consortium demanded of many like him.”_  
\----------  
First day of the conference, a time for greetings and excitement for what may come. Presenters milled about in the spacious dining hall with attendees, guests of honor, local socialites, and whoever else could talk well enough to persuade everyone into thinking they belonged.

In better moments, Nikolai could forget that he had been tortured three weeks ago. The necessary battery of testing for the latest version of his hardware. Every day now, he got congratulations and encouragements for contributing so much to the new augmentation program as the sole subject thus far. He found no truth in this; all he did was argue with the doctor and write scathing critiques of her methods and work.

Three weeks ago they subjected him to torture; less friendly or enlightened civilizations called it “interrogation.” Each technique he studied extensively, so he bore his burden well. With so much knowledge on his side, he could pretend it was just a series of trials. Then Dr. Chiaaso found her appetite for his misery and introduced a technique once lost in the annals of history. They call it something so mild.

Waterboarding.

“Nikolai, come back to us!” The avuncular voice of his friend, Wonic Pritchard, drove away his demons. For now, at least.

“Had I been gone for a while?” He’d been staring out the window at the rolling purple hills teaming with local fauna which frolicked freely in the late afternoon sun. The elbow he’d been leaning on felt sore.

“This is a time of celebration! At last, I will share my work with those who could use it. You should be happy for me.”

He replied quietly, “I am ecstatic, friend.” The assignment weighed on his conscience. Between sessions with Dr. Chiaaso, he sparred with Ethics over their proclamation on this assignment; it took them nearly two years to arrive at the decision when all other avenues had been exhausted. Wonic was a good person. So was his wife. So were his adult children. They were a quiet people, his family. They never did anyone harm.

“Well, act it! I know, I know, it doesn’t change much for now, but it will soon! I just know it!” He clapped Nikolai on the back with a fat hand. “And I can’t wait to thank you in front of everyone. You deserve it.”

It hurt his heart to give a practiced, insincere smile. “Why is that?”

“Because.” He looked ready to cry tears of joy. “You listened. And you kept away everyone who would steal our work. Ellie and I owe you everything that brought us to this moment.”

Focusing on the bridge of Wonic’s nose meant he wasn’t looking him in the eye. “Thank you.” Time was running short. He pulled a ring-sized box from his pocket. “Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to the drink in his friend’s hand.

Wonic’s face soured briefly. “Well, go ahead, only because I’m in a good mood. You already know how much I don’t like sharing my drinks.”

“Too true.”

He popped the pill when someone came by to distract Wonic. Good.

Hold the pill under the tongue.

Take to the lips.

Long sip.

Bring the pill to the lip of the glass.

Let go of the pill.

A faint _tink_ announced its entry into the glass. Wonic was drinking a dark beer, dissolving the pill quicker. There was a chance he miscalculated the dosing. But all possible outcomes would further the Consortium’s goal.  “Would you excuse me for a moment?” he murmured quietly, passing back the glass.

He slipped away to seclude himself, expertly dodging his friend for a few hours until their evening appointment when they would meet in Wonic’s quarters for him to teach Nikolai how to appreciate scotch. For his part, Nikolai preferred grain alcohol and found little interest in finding the difference between various distillers. He must see his friend tonight, however.

“Come in, come in!” Wonic’s face looked redder than usual with a wheeze in his voice.

As the keynote speaker of the conference, Wonic enjoyed quite a plush suite for him and his wife, luxurious compared to the bare-bones room Nikolai had. Of course, he preferred the minimalist furnishings for himself; they kept him focused. This was his most difficult assignment yet.

He sat out on the chaise lounge as usual, one leg on the ground since he was almost too tall for lie comfortably. Just as well. He needed to stretch his hips. Wonic was talking about scotch, uncorking bottles to pour out little samples. His voice sounded muffled. Meanwhile, Nikolai found the window once more. The phosphorescence of the meadow in all its multicolored glory rivaled the stars in the sky.

Nikolai cleared his throat. “I must thank you for your attention.” Neither were sentimental. He never told him how fulfilling their friendship had been. Above all, Wonic was a gentle person. “I have been told to pick up a hobby. Scotch seems like an excellent hobby.”

Wonic coughed violently between his words. “You have plenty of hobbies.”

“Perhaps.” The meadow’s lights winked and rippled. “You are a good man.”

“Well...I do hope so….” His voice grew weak.

“And I know you will be remembered for a long, long time.”

Wheezing. Something mumbled. Then a crash of glasses, bottles, and spilt liquor. He had fallen face-first into the counter before slumping down in heap on the carpet.

In a moment of weakness, he hesitated.

He needed to do his due diligence.

Dabbing his face with the cuff of his sleeve, he walked over to check for a pulse. Each assignment took a toll. This time, no chance for the confession he craved to unburden his heart to a man he held dear. No romanticized last moment to savor the end of their friendship. His death came quick and easy like snuffing out a candle.

There wasn’t time for mourning.

Ellie had come into the room.

++

In lieu of the lecture, the Conference sponsored a memorial service for Wonic Pritchard. A solemn affair. Nothing like what his friend would have wanted. The organizers had a fundamental grasp of human funerary customs but didn’t understand the nuance. Every attendee came to pay their respects, either to give comfort or to satisfy their own culture’s mores.

In the great lecture hall, people awkwardly lingered to make hushed conversation. Everyone came to the same conclusion: They couldn’t leave until the widow dismissed them. Unaware or not a whit interested in the guests’ obligations, Ellie kept close to Nikolai; he couldn’t sit still, and they took to laps around the great hall. Every sentence came with sobs.

“He, he just wanted to make transporters safer,” she said in a sad, whining voice. “Beaming someone through ship’s shields without hurting them—so many lives would be saved.”

Or ended. The Pritchards never knew that by accident they had created a powerful weapon of war. The knowledge alone of such technology being possible would destabilize treaties and tacit agreements. The carnage would be incomprehensible. But he was forbidden from even speaking aloud the possibility to them. Once it was spoken, it couldn’t be taken back. Someone was always listening.  

“He promised to take me on holiday after this. We would see our family.”

Nikolai wasn’t done. This would be equally painful. His next questions were outside the bounds of basic decency, and he would be so kind with them that she’d never notice. He loathed himself for how easily he could meet his goal. “Ellie, you must know something.”

She hiccupped to calm herself for a moment.

“I consulted with my colleagues at the Consortium. We think that he was murdered. For his work.” How dare he.

Instead of wailing in response, she grew quiet. She answered in a hollow voice, “It was so obvious…how did I not see….”

“People will find out that he is dead. They will also find out that you have his work. And I do not know if I can protect you or your family. Not without the Consortium.”

“Then what do I do?”

A long pause. “We need everything. Not just copies.” Before she responded, he quickly added, “I know it is not what he wanted. But I doubt he would want you dead on his account either.” He had expertly painted her into a corner. And why not? It was his job.

She relented. She had no choice. Taking her hand, he intoned softly, “We will keep it safe. All of it.” Experts would review the data, but he could predict its ultimate fate: destruction. A lifetime of work wiped from existence.

He squeezed her hand. “Thank you. I will make sure that you do not suffer further.” His heart felt sick. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

In the washroom, he couldn’t look at his own reflection. He didn’t want to see this face. Not even for the execution or the blatant manipulation. It was for how easy he could let go. Wonic was gone. How could feel at peace so soon?

Maybe it was the memorial. He had spent hours listening to people sincerely praise his friend, overheard people talk of naming an institute or prize after him. No one would forget him. He would do so much good dead than he could ever hope to do alive.

It was also the knowledge that he couldn’t be caught.

He absentmindedly traced over a surgical scar around the nape of his neck. The realization came like an electric shock.

Everything Dr. Chiaaso had done to him was in preparation for this assignment.

Deforest Chiung had to choose between the life of a young upstart with no obligations and the life of a good person with a family. He chose Nikolai.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning to gentle readers: Once again, more descriptions or references to medical violence, and the consequences therein. Take care and be well.

_A sigh as she refilled their bowls and added more spice. “Every mind is different, you must understand. Some are like halls of swirling pools while others are like a menagerie of loosed prized pets. But Nikolai.” Vevi's gaze drifted to the window where the last flickers of twilight descended over the valley. “I knew what he had been. I cannot possibly describe what he is now.”_

_“It could benefit you to try.”_

_“In truth, I do not know anymore. I cannot read him, no one can. I only know what he tells me. And…he told me he is someone who believes that a soul can be traded away. And once it is traded, it is gone forever.”_

_“That is impossible. A soul--” Their words became a giant tangle as they stopped talking and instead ruminated on what they meant, but she could hear their every thought._

_She spoke to the silence. “That belief was one I discovered too late.”_

_“How?”_

_\----------  
_Bright, clean light poured through the great portrait window from the examination theater into the dark doctor's office furnished for anyone who wanted a quiet place to work. A display screen beeped with the vitals of the patient in the compact operating theater. A group of technicians currently obscured any view of the patient.  Like great pillars, medical consoles rose around them while flat-paneled imaging equipment hung down from the ceiling as if heavy fruit. Vevi's eyes drifted between the vitals monitor and her current task; humans still insisted on calling it “paperwork.”

“So soon after surgery to begin testing?” asked T'sira, her friend and confidant, a calming presence. While others from her culture maintained a steel box around themselves, within T'sira lived a walled garden, a place that was contained but still nurtured. It also forced Vevi to speak aloud despite both possessing telepathic abilities. She stood near the great window, watching the procedure in the theater.

“He had plenty of time to recover.” She took a moment to watch her patient's vitals jump for a moment. Perfectly normal result of the current treatment.

T'sira nodded sagely.  “What is your current treatment?”

“Mm,” she murmured, “electroshock. A robust test on the circuitry of the new implants. Before that, bas—bas--” The word was too unfamiliar to her mouth. “One whips the soles of the feet. Easily the most compassionate stress test. Negligible physical damage to the body.”

“And the psychological effects?”

“Simple to manage.” She flicked the thought away with a flourish of her wrist. “He has his other doctors. They do not share with me, and I do not ask.” Officially, her patient was the project leader. If he wanted her to know such things, he would direct his doctors to share.

“Fascinating.” The machines around them beeped. “I believe that how I treat him now is different from how I did before. I believe it is a weakness of illogic.” She turned from the window, flashing intense dark eyes. “Have you noticed the same?”

She didn't understand the question. “Why would I treat him differently?”

“After his first implant. Only when he announces himself can we notice he is in the room. If we want information, we must speak to him instead of reading him. We must take him at his word.” She turned back to the great window. “He is isolated in a way we cannot experience or comprehend.”

Talking was so much work at times. Vevi chose silence, waiting for T'sira to make her point.

The machines alarmed and buzzed in distress. The vitals for her patients jumped wildly around. Focus. She needed her technicians to keep calm. [Tell me what happened.]

[I don't know—] [He was fine a moment ago—] [We were so careful, oh God, no, oh God, oh God—] [Please God no—] [--Breathing, check his breathing—] [--His pulse, check his pulse, what is his pulse—]

And then, laughter. Not from any of the technicians....

Through the window, she heard one of them throw their facial scrubs against the wall and shout, “ _Nikolai, you ass!”_

T'sira quirked a brow at her friend. “We will talk later.” She glided away through the door.

Vevi punched the comm button for the theater. “Perform the patient revival protocol and then refresh yourselves for 30 minutes.”  She couldn't help her own smirk. Her work spoke for itself.

In the examination theater, she found her patient exhausted from laughter and still prostrate on the exam table. White consoles displayed every possible data set that could be graphed about him. She chose the station closest to the patient's head. The machines all hummed and sang in their secret languages.  T'sira's question lingered in her mind. What was she driving at? Nothing had changed in the way she treated Nikolai. Nothing at all.

Nikolai gingerly rolled on his side to face her, his cheek cradled in one hand. During their past few sessions, he changed. Months of cold, seething silence became friendly chatter with the occasional coded flirtation. Since they met, this was the happiest she had seen him. “Here to punish me for scaring your minions, I suppose,” he mused with sly smile.

“They work for _you_ ,” she reassured, “But the newest implant works just as I had hoped.” They were up to six different systems now. Their work was almost miraculous as they built each system to complement the other and work seamlessly with his body. The implants were as much a part of him now as his own skin. She smiled to herself, admiring the surgical scars on his barely-clothed body and on his shaved head; she needed scars for guides next time. There was always a next time. Always opportunity for improvement. Everyone complimented her on the theoretical. No one ever took the time to notice her work in the operating room.

“My favorite yet.” Using his free hand, he drew a finger tenderly down her arm. “Is this your way of rewarding me for finally bending to your will?”

T'sira's question now pestered her. There was nothing different, was there? _Bend me to your will_. He said that before. Quite often, in fact. But in this moment, it bothered her. Though unable to read him, her intuition told her to pay attention. She gently repositioned him on the exam table to get better readings. “I can only do what you ask of me. You are the project lead.”

“You speak without truth,” he scoffed and chuckled. Though he rolled onto his back as she directed, he caught her wrist in the lightest grip. Like he was afraid to exert too much pressure. “Everyone knows my life is entrusted to you wholly and completely.” He craned his neck to face her. “Is it no wonder that I love you?”

Vevi flicked her wrist out of his grip as a low hum started in her ear, drowning out everything else. “Excuse me?” Even as he sat up on the exam table to repeat himself, she couldn't hear him. “No? You are mistaken?” His tone did not deviate from hesitant seduction as he explained himself. “This cannot be? I do not understand?”

Somehow her hearing came back just as Nikolai said, “Well, what must I do to prove myself?”

“Switch off your blocker. I want to read you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I cannot do that, and you should know.”

“Yes, you can.” She found her doctor's voice, one she uses to compel him. “Switch it off.”

“How?”

Her commanding tone remained. “I made certain.” She leaned in to whisper. “Feel for it.”

A mask of focus fell over him and, eyes closed, he turned as if looking all over the room. His tongue sought around his mouth. He seemed in a trance, perhaps seeing a computer in his mind. It had been so long since she read him. Does he truly love her? Possibly. Enemies to lovers was such a delicious idea. She never took the flirtations in earnest, but then again no rules would stop them, so what harm could come from a romantic rendezvous? Vevi couldn't be his doctor anymore, but the project would continue. When he suddenly stopped, she readied her mind to receive his familiar psychic signature.

Vevi remembered a quiet, orderly, and endless library; numerous compartments and secret passageways; books made of stone and plant fibers and electronics and animal skins crowded up against each other in the shelves and around the literal stacks, books of every possible size from palm-sized to tall as a door; warm, soft lighting from numerous candles.

Her brow suddenly seared. She felt electric burns on her body. Her feet ached with a bone-deep pain.

 _Where is the library_?

Vevi wiped the wet off her nose. It was blood.

No library in the mind before her. A cold, blowing storm of ice shards. Bleak gray in every direction. At its center, a lonesome and dimly-lit house. And nothing else.

When she looked at him again, she found a myriad of healing bruises and numerous scars she never attended to—where did those come from? She felt the hairline fracture on his ulna—was that from this month? How long had he been undernourished? And that was not love in his eyes. Though he may have come to believe it was love, it was something else. But she could not understand what, and it worried her more than anything else.

What happened? Who had done this?

“Well?” he asked. He needed her approval. Tell him that he was good. That he did well.

Vevi could not oblige him. “How? Why?”

A snort and a laugh, sounding pathetic now instead of confident. “Wh—Vevi, please.” But then he stuttered, uncertain of his words. “I, I mean. What is there to explain? Why can't I love you?”

The storm in Nikolai's brain churned and wailed. “Tell me what you love.”

He reeled with an uncertain smile. “I—I do not know. But I must, mustn’t I?” His eyes grew wide with an aching need for approval. “I...why else does my heart jump when you are near?”

As he spoke, Vevi read a wave of terror rippling through the storm. Stepping closer, she reached out to caress his hollow cheek.

Another wave of terror. His eyes followed her hand, not her face. He didn’t breathe again until they were skin-to-skin. A third wave began but quickly dissipated.

She stood on her toes and pulled him into an embrace, pressing his cheek to hers. “Nikolai,” she whispered in his ear. “It is because you fear me.”

“N-n….” His body trembled. Terror now twisted through the storm.

“You do not love me.”

He was quietly gasping. The storm raced faster, harder.

“You are simply tired of hating me.” They argued professionally without end. But she never thought he meant it as a personal attack. How did this happen? They had been collaborators and colleagues for so long, and he always treated her with civility. How could he hate her so much? What had she done? “Please forgive me.”

She let him go. The storm howled. Each time he took a breath to speak, nothing would come.

It was too much. She turned her back, unable to look at him. “Mistakes were made. I must reevaluate our protocols for testing. I should not have allowed this.”

Vevi felt the knife in his heart.

“I am recommending that you are taken off the project entirely. You can return to your old department and recover. I was wrong to believe that this was the right way to test.” Under her breath, “I thought you could handle it.”

The storm spiraled higher. Everything went from gray to white. And then a deep, glowing crimson. Though he spoke softly, chills went down her spine. “…What do you mean?”

Do not look back. Stay firm. “You need to recover and you will do so far better at your old department. Data analysis will do well for you.”

The ice shards in the storm began clustering in the winds. “You did this to me. And your way of handling what you have done is to cover up the evidence.” As they clustered, they stretched. One group was a shaft. The other, a spearhead. They came together. And thought it was all a mere mindscape, the spear at her nape of her neck felt very real. He never raised his voice. “I am the project lead. I have the final word on any decision in the project.”

She walked to the consoles with her eyes on the door. “I am your doctor. I determine the state your health, and I determine that you are too ill to continue.”

“You were my punishment.”

The spear at her neck felt hot. She couldn’t respond. Her throat seemed to close up.

“Two years.” A stuttered breath. “Why. What great injury did I give you?”

She spun on her heels to plead her case. “Nothing! There was no vengeance!” She was walking right into the spear, and only her instinctive shield could split it back into shards. Without good instinct, it would have surely overpowered her. “I only did what was best for the project! We have accomplished so much together! The knowledge alone has incalculable value! I did not think--”

“No.” Such a quiet voice that stung her ears. “You did not.”

She asserted her commanding voice once more. “Listen, as your doctor— ”

“Dr. Chiaaso, as your project lead, I determine that it is time for us to review your conduct on this project.” A stony face could not hide from her the shrieking in his mind. “Clearly you did not understand how much pain I was in.”

Everything she did and this is how he treats her. “Well, how was I supposed to know—”

A hushed snarl. “Reports. Memos. Meeting minutes. Our daily conversations. Your own technicians. _What_ _else_ could you possibly want?”

“I read all of those!” she pleaded, her voice growing higher and louder. “I read everything! And we changed our protocols! Longer recovery time! Safer procedures and testing!  We did good work and I have done nothing wrong because I acted on the information available to me from a patient who seemed given to exaggeration!”

Anger simmered and creased his brow. “When. When was I ever one to exaggerate.”

“I—“ scoff “—I—“  scoff “—You can only expect so much from me—“  Breathing heavy . “I cannot read your mind!” 

Damn everything. T’sira had been right.

He wanted blood. But the moment he slid off the exam table, he collapsed to his knees from the pain of his foot-whipping. “You tortured me,” he declared in his ever-level voice, still on his knees, “for two years, not for any deliberate reason but because you could not read my mind and therefore did not believe anything I told you.” Wave after wave of grief and pain were crashing over him. “And now, you like your mistake to never be known.”

“It, it is like not being able to hear something when I cannot read you! I mean, how could I know what you were thinking?”

He crawled with stiff limbs to the other side of the exam table for its cupboards and drawers. “When? The time I swallowed my teeth? The first time or the fifth time I lost consciousness from the pain? Or perhaps the time I could not walk for days?”

Each question came with his perfect recollection of the event. She could not deny these truths. But why could _she_ not remember these times? They barely made an impression. She simply never noticed. “Nikolai, please, first switch back your blocker—“

She heard him rummaging in the drawers. “No.”

Oh no. “Someone is coming, another telepath.”

A moment of silence. Then nothing. As if he had evaporated from the room. His psychic signature disappeared from the room not a second before the door opened. “Hello? I sensed a strangeness in here. Is everything okay?” New to the department and young.

“As well as we can,” called Nikolai in the courteous, professional voice he used toward everyone. He emerged from behind the exam table, standing tall and upright. Not possible from the pain in his feet.

Seeing the welts, the young analyst looked between them with a furrowed brow. Then his eyes lit up. “Oh! This is the project, is it not? Someone told me about the work you are doing.” Eagerly, he strode over to shake Nikolai's hand. “I have wanted to meet you—“ He gave his name which Vevi promptly forgot. She was absorbed in shielding while working to not appear to be shielding, an extremely delicate balance.

He pulled up his dark brown trousers before accepting the other’s hand. “Ah, thank you.” He moved so fluidly, like nothing bothered him. How much pain did he mask every day?

“It is such a honor—“ The analyst went on. Vevi tuned it out.

While they talked, Nikolai buttoned up his white shirt and donned his black vest; she noticed in the vest a design choice meant to hide the back brace built into the garment. Was this new? Never did he wince. “Well, that is an interesting question—“ Somehow he kept a calm tone, even sounding pleasant with no effort made to hurry the analyst away.

“I am sorry, but I must be leaving.” The analyst was not excusing himself fast enough.

Vevi stepped in before they continued talking. “It was kind of you to drop by, Analyst.” 

The moment that the door closed, Nikolai’s knees buckled while he fell across the exam table. He clung for support. “Hand me my cane.”

Even as she handed him the black sleek stick with a steel handle, the words came before she could think. “You do not need a cane.”

“Yes. I do.” He hoisted himself up, the same craving for her blood in his eyes. “There is a pinched nerve in my right hip, starting three months ago, after surgery. You ignored it for so long, I began to think that maybe I had made it up for myself.” He was right. The cane helped so little. Dressed for work and even wearing socks and shoes which he must have surreptitiously donned them, he took slow and limping steps around to her side of the exam table. In one hand were a set of surgical scrubs while he grabbed his cane with the other.

“We are not done.”

“Yes. We are.”

She stared at the scrubs because shame kept her from meeting his gaze.

Same calm voice he gave to the young analyst, but each word cut deep. “You will take these home and you will record your report of every detail of today—“ He hissed her into silence “—Yes, _every_ detail. Tomorrow, you will go to Supervisor Chiung’s office and you will make an emergency appointment to see him. You will read your report to him, and then you will burn it. At that moment, you will inform him of my recommendations: He must take over as a second project lead, and you will no longer be working with any patients. You are on the project, but you will not lay hands on me or another person.” He paused, letting the gravity of his words weigh on him. “If I see you in the same room as me, you are gone.”

She dared to look at him. “For how long?”

“Until I say otherwise.” Leaning heavily on the cane, he hissed and growled with each step on his battered feet.

Vevi should get started to her report. A hardcopy report was her punishment and the one kindness he was granting her. He was treating this incident as too important or sensitive to allow into Consortium databases. Stitching or paint, she needed to choose….

He stopped halfway to the door. Now, he sounded mournful. He was grieving. “You are right about everything.”

She straightened and folded the scrubs under her arm. It was better to stay silent and let him speak.

“I do fear you. And knowing what you did, knowing what I gave up, was not for a greater purpose in service of our government but a Hell of my own making—still.” He shuddered as he breathed. “I cannot hate you. I am too tired. I want you, somehow. I do not even know in what way. But.” His voice fell to a whisper. “You are _inside me_.” A short sniffle. “You are in my dreams and my nightmares. You are the first thing I think about when I wake and the last thing I think about when I sleep. And because of you, I no longer fear death.” Cough. “And yet I fear you.” A deep, ragged breath. “I gave _everything_ I have left to the Consortium because I want to serve. And from being a whole person, I was split into constituent parts. Just pieces. Pieces. That you could use.”

She needed to speak in her defense. “Nikolai, you still have your soul.”

“No.” He continued toward to door. “I gave my soul to Consortium years ago. It is somewhere in your files.”

++

Gentle mid-morning light speckled the deep brown desk, escaping into Nikolai's new office through the sweeping windows; he had drawn the ornately-cut window screens as he preferred working in low light, scattering little designs on the floor. The "ugliest office on the floor" was his request when the department relocated, but the result was still a workspace with an uncomfortable amount of good taste and decor. Desk with a large tactile display, virtual display, multiple tablets, shelving for personal effects and extra room to spare for a small meeting table. They even swapped the sagging cot from his old office for a new bed that folded out of the wall. There was a fortunate lack of in-facing windows. But the amenities felt unearned despite numerous reassurances.

He sucked on the end of his cigarette holder absentmindedly and made little effort to direct where the smoke went, whether through his nose or into his lungs or merely held in his mouth. But out of politeness to his colleagues, he kept his transparent door closed. His subordinates knew they were still welcomed into his office at any time; everyone else left him in peace.

"Ginger?" He cracked the door just enough to duck his head out.

His assistant, equal to none, turned up her sharp eyes. Her standing desk marked one of the walkways on the floor. "Yes?"

"Is Deforest available?"

"He's finishing up a meeting." She gestured across the office floor to the gaggle of people slowly dissipating on the other side. "Be careful. The meeting went long." That was never a good sign.

But this was too important. "Thank you." Snatching up the necessary tablet, he marched along the winding walkways created from the myriad of different workspace configurations; the Consortium, perhaps to its detriment, often prized accommodating different work-styles to uniform organization. Right angles and straight lines in the emerging walkways came about by accident. He wondered how many people he should flatter to create a walkway in a straight line between his office and Deforest's. He never heard Ginger urgently call after him.

Deforest's new office oozed the aesthetically excellent taste of the building's architect. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooking one of the campus's great gardens, a sleek gray wall with sumptuous displays, and glass-like walls for the rest. Nikolai loathed it and his supervisor loved it in equal amounts.

But this was too important. "Deforest, about Project Eta-185." He had looked up just long enough to make sure he didn't run into the door as he walked in, now pulling all the files he needed on his tablet.

"Ye--" He scoffed suddenly. "Nikolai!" He gestured emphatically to his mouth.

He forgot to keep his smoking in his office. Removing the holder, he extinguished the offending cigarette on the sole of his shoe. Deforest meanwhile shook his head in judgment. "Why you chose to adopt one of the most antiquated and detrimental habits in human history, I do not understand."

"'Nikolai, take up a hobby. Nikolai, find an activity that is divorced from your work,'" he gently mocked, allowing himself a smirk as he replaced the holder to his lips. "You never specified further."

Deforest only rolled his eyes in reply. "Project Eta-185. There isn't much more to do on it. The delegation has left for the border."

In his shock, he let the holder fall to the soft, carpeted floor. "Pardon?"

"Language in the armistice treaty with the Union was finalized over the past few days. The delegation from the President's office is on route." He leaned on his chair, a personal signal that he'd like to sit down and get other work done.

He needed to find those files. "We have to recall them." Nikolai didn't see the face of suppressed incredulity Deforest wore, like the foulest odor had slapped him across the nose.

"Is that so?" His skill lay in sounding like he found even the most delusional person credible. "We should call the President's Office to recall the delegation?"

On the large wall-display appeared reports, images, and star charts all neatly arranged within the space given. "Here is what we have from within Union space." He pointed to the star chart. "This planet here within their sphere of influence. They claimed it as their colony decades ago. The native sentient species falls into the same clade as humans and other species we've made contact with."

"Yes, a handful of the exiles serve in the government."

He forgot his next words. "...Pardon?"

Deforest softly drummed his fingers against the back on his chair. "Government Archives and Preservation collected extensive interviews from these exiles. You already have the transcripts." He gestured to his desk as a hint that he wanted his conversation to wrap up. "You did good work, Nikolai. Get some rest." 

Try as he might, he couldn't picture the transcripts or recall a word of them. "Please, just a moment." With a gesture, he swapped between the report and the star chart. "This is the most recent dispatch from our field analysts. The details speak for themselves."

Deforest read unflinchingly the atrocities described. "And your solution is to recall the delegation?"

"And rewrite the treaty. Our government's fleet is strong and the Union only capitulates to strength. They should cede control of the planet if they wish for any diplomatic ties to us."

The deep flustered sigh from his supervisor made Nikolai's lip curl in anger. "You recommend that we force them to give up this planet--"

"And any territory they captured along our borders--"

"--And captured territory."

Nikolai lowered his voice and spoke through clenched teeth. "Repeating back what I say does not make me think it is absurd. Clearly, liaisons from Diplomacy did not receive sufficient information when crafting the treaty. We already know that interviews for historical preservation make for poor intelligence."

Deforest rounded his desk to the display, looking past him. "And our own work has supported every claim made in the interviews. We already shared what we have. They know."

For a moment, the world went dark. The room faded back into focus. "I..." He couldn't remember the thread of his thoughts.

Deforest was clearing away the contents from the display with lazy, fluid gestures. "The President's Office knows, Diplomacy knows--they all know. They knew long before the first word of the treaty was written." His voice was flat. "Go home for a few hours. We will discuss project closure this afternoon."

Nothing was making sense. "The armistice," he stammered, "is an apology. Forgiveness. A blind eye to their actions."

Deforest walked over to close the door, and Nikolai caught a glimpse of nearby colleagues gawking with curiosity. People still stared, even when he grew his black hair past his shoulders to hide the scars on his scalp and neck. Let them stare. This was too important. "I had the same concerns, and I contacted Diplomacy and I contacted members of the workgroup from Starfleet. This is the only way. The armistice sets a path for future negotiations. We must trust that they are acting in good faith--"

"Of course," he sneered, "just as the Union has always engaged us in good faith and did not undermine numerous efforts before to end border conflicts."

Deforest lingered at the door with a hand to his mouth, the resulting clicks from him chewing off a fingernail in thought. "Fine." He shook his head and chewed another nail. "Fine. Your way, fine." He straightened and walked back to his desk, holding agitated eye-contact. "Diplomacy revokes the armistice. We start over. We demand the conquered planet and we demand captured territory. What happens next?"

The question was an insult. "We save millions of lives and an entire planet gains back its self-determination."

Deforest threw an image onto the display without looking. To call it a mass grave realized a generous use of the word 'grave' instead of 'pile.' "This was from the last dossier from the planet, I see. And this." Another image. A picture of a picture surreptitiously captured: a magistrate posed next to corpses while underlings documented the occasion. "Part of the documents from the interviews. And here is one of your reports." And early report. Nikolai recognized the document ID. "Do you remember what it says?"

His fervor wavered. "Yes." The impatient silence prompted him to repeat back what he could recall. "'The Union holds that a great injury and humiliation was committed against them in the distant past, and this longing to regain a golden age is paramount. This nature of this great injury, however, remains unknown and could be an invention of the government to justify its policies.'"

Deforest was back at his desk, once again leaning on his chair. He had pulled it out slightly, ready to sit down. "In your expert opinion, would they perceive our demands as a 'great injury and humiliation?' Do you think that the Union's government will use our demands to justify dragging us in total war?"

There was more to explain. "Yes, and--" His vision blurred for a moment. "Our resources can provide numerous options for counter-intelligence and mitigation strategies to avoid conflict. A short time in the field and we can disrupt communication for months before they notice."

Birds sang bombastically in the garden below the window. Deforest's eyes wandered around his office. Maybe the words he wanted were hiding the corners. Solemn and soft, he spoke. "Would such a plan maintain or strengthen stability in region?"

He couldn't lie. "No--not at first--but there is a chance for long-term stability in the future."

"Would such a plan yield new knowledge or discoveries?"

Looking over at the wall-display, his eyes fell on his early report. The Document ID repeated and echoed in his head. "No."

Deforest tapped a button on his desk to shut off the display. The Document ID from his report melted into darkness, and a shiny black mirror remained. "Then there is nothing else to discuss. Please. Get some rest, take a walk--I don't care. You need to take time away from here."

No. He would not let this matter rest. He swiped through the files. He needed to find the last dossier on his tablet. It was here. It had to be here. He didn't imagine it. He couldn't have. It was here....

"Nikolai--" "The Union is experimenting on its people."

The words ricocheted off the windows. He pulled the dossier on the tablet and all but slammed tablet on the desk. "And they are creating hybrids." He was shaking as he stared at Deforest. The tremors would pass.  “I do not know why or how. But they are doing this to their own people. And to the people on this conquered planet. Their scientists are doing this. And they will not stop."

Nikolai didn't wait for an answer. "No one should--" The words stopped. He tried again. "No one should live through--" Everything went dark for a moment. He just needed to lay his head on the desk. A electric current was bouncing through the countless hairline fractures of his bones which healed but never went away.

"No--no one should live through what I---" This was too important. The scars on his neck throbbed with a dull, deep pain. "No one--"

He laid his forearms on the desk and rested his forehead on the cool, smooth desk. The tremors hadn't subsided. They would. Once he caught his breath, he would be fine. They could discuss strategies for undermining or even preventing further experiments, and then the next step would be collecting--perhaps destroying--any records created as part of the experiments.

A gentle hand rested on his upper back. "Nikolai," murmured Deforest with deep compassion. "Let's sit down."

He crawled to his knees to rest on the floor, the dull pain now in his temples. The carpet was so soft and inviting, so good against his cheek.

From his 90-degree-turned view, he saw Deforest go to the door. The walls around them didn't show the outside but inside a deep blue ocean with the sunbeams drifting in the water. He caught "Toby, could you--" but the rest was garbled to his ears. He undid the top button of his shirt to let him breathe better. As soon as this passed, they could resume their discussion. A passing thing.

Deforest sat on the carpet in his view. “I did not know. Were you saving it for the next report?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “The report will not change anything.”

“You cannot know that….”

“I can and I do.” He lay down to tent his legs and rest against his forearm, putting them in parallel. “You did excellent work, Nikolai. And not only you but your team as well. But all other decisions are out of our hands.”

The floor, with the carpet atop, was almost too firm but he liked the hardness along his spine. The tremors were subsiding. His bones still ached. He felt the old pain of the hardware. “Why,” he asked, not lifting his head to stop the carpet from muffling his voice.

Deforest shook his head. “I would not know where to start.”

A knock, and at once Deforest was on his feet. Some murmurs, the door closed, and a tray materialized on the floor. Ah, his little desktop samovar. The tray also held two cups and tiny bowls for the necessary accoutrements of an afternoon tea. “Is this all from my office?”

“Your therapist suggested that familiar items and a ritual can help you through an episode.”

He chortled into the carpet. “I am not having an _episode_.”

Chuckling, Deforest uncovered the solar panels on the samovar to let it use the office light and prepared their cups. “You are on the floor of my office.”

“This is an incident, not an episode.” Rolling onto his back, he noticed the ceiling was a deep and gentle purple like the night sky. Calming. No overhead fixtures. All lighting came from the expansive window.

Birds continued their shouting. Deforest spoke softly. “I was going to ask you to lunch today and tell you about the armistice then. I knew it would upset you. I—” He set down their cups for a moment, looking away. “I learned five days ago that they had finalized the language and terms of the agreement.” A deep breath. “That evening, I was on a call with the head of the work group at Diplomacy who was in a shouting match with the Starfleet liaison and at the same time, the archivist on the project from Preservation and a delegate for the colonies had put me on their call where they were arguing with staffers from the President’s office. Top-tier at Diplomacy forbade us to tell anyone until this afternoon when they make their announcement. It was the only way to stop the fighting.”

The news surprised him. Imagine his reserved and measured colleagues spitting venom at each other.

“There are times when the best possible solution is the one that makes no one happy.”

True.

The samovar rumbled from the rolling boil which had started in its chamber. Deforest filled the kettle, poured out the water, and stirred the tea to help it steep. He sniffed the milk before gagging.  “This is sour. You should have tossed it days ago.”

Nikolai sat up to take his cup. He hadn’t slept or eaten or danced or cleaned the past few days. Things fell to the wayside.  In silence, they blew on their cups.

He noticed only now that instead of seeing the rest of the floor outside, the three walls around them displayed the rippling green of the lake on the campus, fish lazily floating about. Deforest must have set this before. A kind gesture.

“I was never bothered by these things before.”

“What things?”

Nikolai gestured vaguely, groping for words. “This. The whole affair.” Harder these days to know what to do with his hands without the cigarette holder. “I. I have ended or ruined the lives of people who never deserved what I did to them. But in the end, I do not regret what I did, merely the loss of a unique being. But this, this reward.” It hurt his heart. A wholly cruel government would receive peace without consequences. “What great good do we serve?”

“This is your first time working on a foreign affairs project. Field projects like the ones you specialized in are short and have an immediate effect. It takes enormous effort to move the machinery of government.” He took the first hesitant sip of his tea. “Your team produced good work. They should go home after lunch. Be with their loved ones. Do something they find relaxing.”

The praise didn’t soothe him. “This cannot be the right way. To let the Union thrive with impunity.” The tea still wasn’t cooled to his liking. If only he had picked up fresh milk that morning. “A life, however small, should not be quantified. And the lives of many should not be counted and weighed against each other like grains of sand.”

“No, they should not.”

In the projections on the walls, a fish narrowly escaped the jaws of a large turtle. Deforest must have also flipped a setting to cancel out the din of the floor beyond his office. No sound of water rushing. They were only a few floor up, close enough to hear not just birds but people enjoying some time in the manicured meadow. A peal of laughter floated from the garden.

“Oh, you dropped this.” Deforest handed him the cigarette holder.

A deep urge took hold. Nikolai brought the holder to his mouth. “May I?”

To the request, Deforest groaned but acquiesced. “This time. But not again. You are lucky I like you as much as I do.”

He smiled for the first time in days as he lit the end with a device he had built from parts of a decommissioned phaser, careful to always blow smoke away from Deforest. “Am I? It seems to have brought me a great deal of trouble.”

Instantly, he deflated. “Nikolai—I—If your felt that way, you could have told me.”

Even his banter kept missing the mark lately. “No, no—” He smoothed over what he could, but while speaking he found his normally deep well of words run dry. It wasn’t hostility. “I have not felt myself lately.” He hesitated before ploughing forth into naked honesty. “I have not felt myself during this project.”

He took another sip from his cup. “It has not been an easy project. When working for Diplomacy, it is often painful and slow. You do not see the consequences until much later. And unlike with the people we have—” he paused on the word “—eliminated, there is very little that we here can predict.”

Nikolai’s self-worth rested on his ability to make accurate and useful predictions. An instance where that skill added no value did not inspire confidence. How strange that his next instinct was to find someone he could kill whose death would introduce stability. He stared into his still-untouched tea as he spoke. “There has been quite a lot of whisper about sedition on both the conquered planets and the colonies we may hand over. Perhaps we can…assist.”

His voice became dark. “No. We never go down that path.”

 “A handful of people providing support. No one would—” “Nikolai, no—” “need to know, and I can—” “Nikolai, stop—” “—find very capable and discreet people—” “—Stop—” “—and with so many connections already on the ground—”

Deforest grabbed his shoulders with a too-tight grip. “ _Nikolai_. _Enough_.”

Not many people laid hands on him, and he momentarily lost his words from this unexpected gesture.

Deforest wasted no time. “We _never_ go down that path.” His fingers sank deeper and his once kind eyes now seethed.  “We _do not_ foment civil war or orchestrate uprisings. We _do not_ gut governments and replace them with friendly puppets.”

“Even in the face of genocide?”

He spat his words. “Yes. Even in the face of genocide. And yes, being different does not make one expendable or insignificant. And yes, the Union is not so important that it can ignore the rights of these people.” He let go but the indents in Nikolai’s shirt remained. “It broke my heart the first time I did work for Diplomacy, and it breaks my heart now.” A hoarse cough. “But the danger is in­ being discovered. The Union _will_ discover the plot.”

True.

“When we are discovered, what do you think the Union will do to the people you wish to protect?”

Exterminate every living thing on the planet. Poison the earth so nothing will ever grow. Erase any hint that a civilization ever existed.

Deforest slid aside the tea tray to sidle up to Nikolai. He laid a more tender hand this time on Nikolai’s knee. He could do these things. Their friendship had kept him alive and sane the past few years. “Compassion is both our strength and our weakness. I am sorry. The armistice is the only way.”

Their doctrine put so many ideas in opposition, and the hardest part was deciding which principle took precedent over the others.  Nothing more could be said. Nikolai leaned against his friend, his colleague, the one who helped his first step out of darkness. Two years at the mercy of Dr. Chiaaso. Two years in recovery. Were it not for meticulous records including hours of video, he wouldn’t believe any of it happened. So many gaps….

“There is something else.” At Deforest’s words, they both straightened. “It is the reason I came out of my meeting late. Data Integrity found a leak.”

He waved away both the concern and his smoke. “Leaks are nothing new.” The Consortium often engineered them to ensure better project outcomes.

“This one was a mistake.” He poured himself more tea and gently elbowed Nikolai to have some of his own. “A Starfleet liaison accused their Consortium contacts of being too cryptic.”

He wrinkled his brow. “That is protocol. We agreed upon these rules decades ago.”

“They wanted information on the project.”

“They can ask Diplomacy.”

“No.” His eyes fell to the visible surgical scars on the top of Nikolai’s hand. “The Project.”

And now he understood. He couldn’t look at Deforest. “How much was leaked?”

“Our names, a few personal details. Nothing about the, eh, ‘enhancements’ you received or about anyone else involved.”

“Starfleet Intelligence is an impossibility.”

Deforest chided him softly. “They do good work. This was one person’s mistake. But, every other government knows about the project now.” Every government, including the Union. “I have been named in a leak before. It is jarring the first time, but after meeting with Data Integrity, I have some options to guide things back into our control.”

“I suppose,” he murmured.

The world was still. He should stay here for the rest of the day. On this floor. If he stayed here, time could stay still. The armistice would never be signed. He would not have to manage the leak. Everything would stay as it had been the moment before he walked in here.

But he couldn’t stay here. He felt a soft cramp in his belly. Deforest stood up, touching his shoulder to encourage him on his feet. “It is not too early to take lunch.” He rounded the desk. “By the way, you remember Tusark from Data Integrity? He asked after you.”

The name pierced through his fog. Surprise and reverence came to his voice. “Yes, yes, of course—you saw him today? He asked about _me_?” Tusark’s reputation preceded him. A loyal and careful member of the Data Integrity department earned him plenty of respect alone, but there was an incident from ten years ago, shortly before Nikolai joined….

“Yes!” He was playful and sly. “He was in the meeting, but he approached me a little while ago.” He disappeared behind the desk at the sound of a drawer opening. “Actually, he asks about you every time we see each other.”

“I, I—Are you certain?” Nikolai, in his early thirties and seven years junior to Deforest, did not expect to catch the attention of a thirty-year, well-renowned public servant like Tusark. “Does he say why?”

“Well, you remember hearing about his incident?” Ten years ago, Tusark escaped from his captors, later discovered to be privateers for a hostile government. His own wit and friendly nature convinced everyone in his path to help him return home—hungry and weak, but alive.

“Of, of course.” The greatest injury was discovered later: his captors tried forcing him to violate another prisoner. He responded by grabbing a phaser and shooting himself. What made the story all more extraordinary is that he never trained as a field analyst. His capture was a fluke, a case of mistaken identity. “He discusses the incident with new analysts.”

“He and his wife Mol have a support group for people like them.” He reappeared again with a large blue tin in his hands. “People like you.”

“…People like me.” The idea of being Tusark’s peer, in any manner, stunned him.

“He wants you to join the group.” He gently pushed the blue tin into Nikolai’s hands with a smile. “Many of them are senior like him, but he believes you will fit in well. Even if you are very junior to them. His instructions are to go to the Euclid Lounge in Building 13 tonight after dinner. Bring a dessert.”

Deforest had already moved to clean up the tea set, allowing Nikolai to crack open the blue tin. Butter cookies glistened inside.

“Ready?”

He stared at the door. Once they stepped outside, time would resume. “No one should live through what I lived through.”

Deforest put a comforting arm around his shoulder. “No. They should not.”

“Alright.” He took a breath. “Let’s go to lunch.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle readers:As usual, some pretty graphic violence. Take your time and go slow.

_Vevi’s guests were silent, digesting both their meals and this new information._

_“It remains one of his greatest regrets.”_

_“What about the leak?”_

_“The Consortium has its own ways of how they handle leaks.”_

_\----------  
_Bright, harsh light in the gray hallway. Breathe in, breathe out. No one would be down this corridor. The meeting had been his idea. In. Out. They would wait for him and only for him. In. Nothing of this meeting would start without him. And out.

Time to go.

The door slid open to the dark, gaping conference room where the liaisons of other governments and departments muttered amongst each other around a barren table. He saw the transition from boredom to hungry anticipation with every member who rose from their seat, waiting to greet him.

Deforest came first to shepherd him through diplomatic protocol. Government liaisons were introduced according to who signed the most recent treaty.

The lump of hate formed below his throat as the Union’s liaison gave formal introductions. “My government finds great privilege in meeting you.” Nikolai turned his gaze to the side wall as an active gesture of disengagement, the only weapon he could use.

The other governments gave equally predatory adulation: The Alliance, the two Empires, and perhaps five dozen other representatives. Each one would use the conference table as a cutting board without remorse to carve off a piece of him and greedily spirit it away to their homes.

At least he would be truly scattered among the stars.

The Starfleet liaison did a good job of pretending to make eye contact but a terrible job of hiding the pen and pad of paper. Rightful punishment.

The procession of formality had a gratifying end with Mol from Data Security. She lightly touched Nikolai’s shoulder, rare for her species, as an act of friendship and reassurance. “Are you well?” she asked with a perfect mix of concern, confidence, and support. His implants blocked her telepathy, and yet she instantly perceived his needs.

“Yes, thank you.”

Deforest led him to the last seat available, thankfully next to him and with a buffer of Federation personnel between them and ravenous curiosity. Deforest stayed on his feet. Now it had begun.

Despite an introduction with every word refined over days and distilled into perfect prose, Deforest spoke as if it all came off the top of his head. “The nature of our agreements with your governments defines our duties as those which require us to disclose new information when it is known by our government and at least one other. This meeting addresses recent information—”

“I hear burning,” said the Alliance liaison. “I smell smoke!”

Panicked murmurs whipped through the crowd and some rushed for the door while Deforest shouted for their calm. “No! No! Sit down!”

On the conference table, Nikolai punched the key that illuminate his slice of the table. “Please stay, it is only me.” He waved about his cigarette holder and showed off his custom lighter. “You are in no danger.”

The fear dampened and everyone reclaimed their seats, but the Alliance liaison demanded, “Mr. Chiung, this is your subordinate. You allow him to pollute our air like this?”

“I would let Mr. LeVanne dance on your head if he wanted.” Deforest continued. “This meeting addresses recent information on a program which became shared knowledge very recently in compliance with the agreements signed by your governments.”

The Union liaison gave a spine-chilling smile. Or whatever that face could approximate as a smile. “You are being pleasant. Is it to delay? Your government created a means of extending the natural abilities of certain valuable assets. And.” The liaison produced a tablet. “If I may find the language in our agreement. Yes.” The smile grew worse. “This is not a reflection of your morality. Surely even in the most insignificant and worthless creature has value and should live in its natural state. Is that correct?”

“The Union is unfamiliar with our government and our agreements.” Deforest maintained control of the room. “This meeting will enhance your government’s knowledge.”

They couldn’t delay now, no matter how much Nikolai wished it. The slices of conference table before each liaison came to life with the help of aides, displaying information from the dossier agreed upon by Data Security. Mol stood up. “Per our security agreements, you will be allowed to read and memorize what you are shown. You are forbidden from transcription or making recordings through any means.”

She continued as the far wall lit up to a vast white screen. “Due to the nature of the information being provided, you may review the footage to memorize key details but you are forbidden from creating any records. Our subject matter experts may answer questions but be aware that they must comply with our security policies in their answers.”

And now it was his turn. His arms still ached from two days ago, but no one could know. Nikolai stood up, taking a long pull on his cigarette holder before speaking.  “What you are about to see are true recordings made as part of our research. We have been required to make edits, but I assure you that the presentation was created from original copies.”

He signaled for the aide to start the recording.

Though a mere four or five years ago, the man laid out on table seemed so much younger than he was now. A very early experiment. The surgical scars on his head were still fresh. Escape was impossible. A cloth was placed over his head. A technician dripped water over the cloth. There was no sound, only the anguished and panicked writhing of the subject on the table.

Every liaison watched this, and then one by one a head turned to look at him. Making eye-contact would break him. He had to stare at his own destruction.

Jump to another scene. One of the last treatments. The subject wore a choke collar and was restrained against a wall. He couldn’t look at the face, staring instead of the protruding collar bone and visible top of the ribcage underneath papery skin. Technicians applied electric shocks along the guidelines where new hardware had been added.

“Oh, come now!” exclaimed the liaison of some smaller government. “This is not real! These two men wear your face, but they are so different! You have provided us with great fabrications! If you do not show us the true recordings, I will complain to my government _and_ yours!”

Naturally, the rest of their guests followed up with their own grumbling and various demands. He gave the signal to the aide, a special one worked out ahead of time. He knew this would happen. That was the point. The whole reason for the terrible pain in his arm.

Jump to the next scene. Him. Timestamped two days ago. Him as he was now. A much kinder technician, no restraints. Just him lying on the table which were still the focus of his nightmares.

At the conference table, Nikolai unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve. The image on the screen slid over to make room for a new one from an overhead camera. A small shaft of light fell on his exposed arm. The grumbling turned to murmurs and coughs.

“I suspected that you would question the authenticity of the recordings, so we made contemporary recordings which demonstrate typical work.”

With lighting above and below, the image of his arm showed in crisp detail the blackened, necrotizing craters against the pale skin of his veiny forearm. One of the craters wept, and he let the fluid bubble out and flow where it may. Skin around the craters had scabbed over, creating a mosaic of blacks, whites, reds, and some purples from the healing bruises.

Next to this image, the recording from two days ago showed him receiving the wounds fresh. No sound, but he remembered the technician counting down before each injury and apologizing profusely each time, even giving words of encouragement and hesitating when Nikolai asked for more.

The recording moved on to another scene, and he rolled up his sleeve—hm, he didn’t remember that stain before. Must have just happened. “I hope this satisfies your doubts.” The split-screen disappeared.

Silence. Good.

Then, the Union’s liaison. There was no smile this time. “Where do the torturers come from?”

It took a moment to unpack the meaning of the question. “They are our physicians.”

“Your government.” A pause. “And you are a citizen.”

“Yes.”

“And they are inflicting pain on you.”

“Yes.”

Silence. “Why?”

“You must narrow the parameters of your question.”

Another liaison interjected, “How is this, this _blood sport_ related to the knowledge that you promised us? We know that you have found a way to extend the abilities of certain persons! We expect real information. Diagrams! Data sets!”

Deforest stepped in. “If you are unhappy with what we have provided, submit a detailed request to the Consortium. We cannot assure you that an agreement will be reached to share more information, but we shall do our due diligence.” This was met with pockets of grunted dissatisfaction.

The Star Empire’s liaison spoke for the first time, the only one who had stayed seated when everyone else fell into chaos. A calm, cold voice spoke. “How long may we stay and study what is provided?”

“There is 50 hours of recordings which you may review as you like. You may stay in this room for as long as you wish. Leaving this room signals that you have acquired all the relevant information for your government and you will be escorted back to your quarters.”

Ignoring the surge of noise from the liaisons voicing their anger over the rules, Nikolai slipped outside. He was done when they were done, but his resolve was breaking. He needed help.

He walked tall as he stepped through the doorway, crumpling as soon as they shuttered behind him. An unfortunate side-effect of the project and his implants was that analgesics didn’t work the same way anymore. When did his shirt sleeve get so wet?

Medical kits were always stashed behind waste bins for anyone who needed them. He crawled to the nearest one and dry-heaved over it until the spasms stopped, careful to keep the cigarette holder in one hand. It was the right choice to eat nothing until after the meeting.

A well-stocked field medical kit, as he had suspected. Enough here to stop the pain and even aid his healing. The medicinal maggots had cleared away the worst of the necrosis the day of the burning, fortunately. One cartridge of the hypo-spray would take the edge off. Dirtied sleeve rolled up, he waited for the pain to subside.

As he changed out cigarettes from the case in his vest pocket, Mol emerged through the double doors. She didn’t hurry her steps despite the clearly pathetic state he was in. With no one else in the corridor, she seated herself primly before him.  

“The liaisons are greatly disturbed by what they see.”

He lit the new cigarette. “They should be.”

A soft breath. “This is the first time I am learning the details beyond what you shared with the others on our scheduled evenings.” The sometimes-social-sometimes-support group she and her husband hosted.

“Honestly, there is a lot I simply never remembered.” Or perhaps have chosen to never remember.

The white noise of the corridor calmed his nerves. Looking down at his arm, he saw the wounds had finally stopped their oozing. Good. “Is it true that time heals all wounds?”

“No.”

The response stunned him. Mol didn’t wait for him to respond. “What heals wounds are care and compassion. Time prolongs suffering.” She gestured to his arm. “Medical care will repair these wounds, not time.”

Time hadn’t repaired Nikolai’s strained relationship with his family. But before, he held on to the belief that waiting another day, maybe another month, would somehow fix the years of friction and irreconcilable differences.

Exam gloves snapped on, Mol began sterilizing the area around his wounds. The gentle touch pulled him from his reverie. Without the pain as a reminder, he couldn’t focus on tending to his own wound. “Pain is a consequence. It is not a tool, and it cannot measure anything.”

He blew smoke over his shoulder to keep it from her face. “I wish Vevi had known that.”

“It is a doctor’s responsibility to know.” The kit whirred and beeped as it printed a field-ready skin graft.

Deforest came through the doors from the conference room. “No, no, stay where you are,” he said before Nikolai got one foot under him. “You did enough.” In the same breath, he scolded, “I am never agreeing a stunt like that again.”

Mol kept her eyes on the printing. “He will recover. A high-risk demonstration, but the outcome thus far has been as we expect.”

He joined them on the floor. “How are you holding up?” “Well, there’s a pleasant tingling now.” He was losing most sensation in his limbs as expected from a full dose of field-ready analgesic.

Nikolai took the field lance to cut the burning end of his cigarette and carefully drop it into the waste bin. “The one taking meeting minutes. Source of the leak?”

“Yes.” Deforest smiled. “Your arm was too much. The liaisons were complaining about the number of lavatories, and our leak source was still occupying one when I stepped out.” Good.

While Mol laid the skin graft on Nikolai’s arm, Deforest’s tone changed. “What they learn here will become common knowledge. Even with Internal Services handling how every other organ of the government will respond, we still must weather the storm. I—I talked with Data Security and the best path forward for you is ending all field assignments.”

“Are you certain?” He could feel himself smiling.

“Yes—Nikolai, I thought you would be upset.” His brow wrinkled deeply. “I thought you wanted more field assignments.”

“No!” he snorted. “But I assumed that asking for anything else would endanger the Project. Oh, but I am still on the Project, correct?”

“What? Of course, of course.” Nikolai saw Deforest pat his shoulder but hardly felt a thing. “We need your leadership and your guidance.”

No more field assignments. No more eliminations. His heart felt lighter now. “A hand up, if you please.”

On his feet, he realized the lightness was in his head. Not drunk but perhaps how noodles must feel when lounging in hot broth. Deforest propped him against the wall to keep him in place. The wall was nice. This was a nice corridor.

“An aide will walk you to the nearest nursing office. Rest, change your clothes, and come back.”

Head leaned against the wall, the words slid from his mouth. “Do you think we are teaching them how to torture humans?”

Deforest nodded. “I do not doubt it.”

“But we can teach our people how to resist. How to survive.”

“I hope so.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle readers: If you have made it this far, I think you know what to expect. But, I still want to warn you. Some pretty intimate violence this time, so perhaps take a short break before this one.

_“How does someone live through such things?”_

_One of her guests answered for her. “Without other options, what choice is there?”_

_Vevi stirred her tepid tea with her finger. “He was wrong about one thing. It didn’t keep him safe.”_

_\----------  
_He advised everyone enrolled in the Project, everyone subordinate to him: Never visit the House of Holes. Proprietors are not interested in Consortium security standards. They took his words to heart.

Nikolai never followed his own advice.

And how could he? The House of Holes was the companionship that only synth-skin and circuit boards could offer. At the House, _by_ the House, he felt understood. The things he desired. Nothing with a soul and a mind deserved to be asked such things. The House possessed neither, and its proprietors cared for him his very first night as if they were old friends. His habits changed, but the House remained. It tethered him to the good habits of normal people; only the House could entice him away from work, reminding him that pleasure laid beyond the deep, unending pain of Vevi’s operating table. He walked home every day, taking the scenic route to pass his beloved House. Not to step in, merely to see it, regard it. A warm wave of energy flutter through his ribs whenever he walked by. If not that day, tomorrow. Always tomorrow. Always soon.

No matter how much his body changed, the House could conform to every new scar and alleviate every new surge of pain. When meeting the proprietors, he found reason to smile and good news to share, no matter how trivial.

Each time they led him through the soft ruby light of the narrow, curved corridors, he reached out to trace a finger over embellishments of the walls and felt a static shock of joy. Even with every booth occupied by like-minded people, only their footfalls sounded in the corridor. He could pretend the House belonged to him and him alone.

The very last at the end of the corridor. His booth. His refuge when neither his bedroom nor his shower felt safe enough. A tight knot of emotions would pull him to the ground, but here he could be weightless. A place to moan in ecstasy and then weep in agony. A place to heal.

Like every other visit, the House welcomed him into his booth with open arms. The hiss and steamy air of a hot shower to relax away all worries. Pulsing, throbbing music to set the mood. Gravity in the booth set slightly below Earth-normal. Texturing on the walls to aid one’s grip. Red-violet light.

Choke chain. Elbow and knee restraints with perfect tension. Warmed, supple metal slipping frictionless along his perineum. A grip so tight from base to tip, yet so velvety. A gentle pressure deep, deep within.

He had to grab at the wall to brace himself.

Ecstasy draining out like hot milk.

Did he lose a bit of bone marrow in that moment?

The lights flickered to white. He didn’t remember asking for that. Normal gravity came back, and he received a rude thump. Music stopped. A chill came into the booth.

_Needles_. No, no, too tight. The harness needed to come off right now. He needed a technician.

He reached down with his left hand only for his elbow to be tugged hard back toward the restraint’s wall. And now the choke chain was starting to tug too.

The emergency switch. There was still time. But reaching with his right hand gave no result. The choke chain was getting tighter. As was the harness.

Safe word! There was still time. “ _Carrots_!” he croaked. “ _Carrots!_ ” But nothing changed and still the choke chain and harness grew tighter.

The full-length mirror in the corner to let him watch. He saw the line of blood flowing down his inner thigh. What was there left to do?

Tear off the harness, regardless of what else it tore from him. A few more moments of breath could save him.

But his color was changing. He couldn’t speak. He needed to decide. The harness or the chain.

Even coughing for air fast was turning futile. The harness or the chain.

He was turning blue. The harness or the chain.

He couldn’t choose.

All he could do was watch himself die.

An obtrusive, loud hiss of the booth door. Warning lights flashing red. The world was growing fuzzy and dim. Metal cleanly cut. Everything was heavy.

“Nikolai.”

He could breathe. He was down. He clutched the textured floor for dear life. He gasped and gulped for air. He was shaking. His unbound hair fell all around, obscuring his vision.

“Nikolai.”

He rolled to his back. This place looked much less inviting in stark white light. A hand pulled him to a sitting position. Who…. “Gertrude?”

Gertrude Deloria kept a hand on his back and the other on his arm. “Stay right here. You’re alive. You’re still alive.” He must have asked what happened because she went on. “After you left our group at the café, I noticed someone fall behind you. I got a bad feeling, so I followed them following you.” She added, “The proprietors heard you call out and sent me to help. They weren’t sure if they could get to you in time.” Her gaze went to the emergency button. “The button there helped too.”

The picture was simple to see. He warned his subordinates away from here for a good reason. But, there could be other explanations. The House wouldn’t be so careless with him. Nikolai looked down to assess the damage. Bloody but intact— “Whoa, Nikolai—” Had he fainted? “Nikolai, I’m putting my kerchief on you. I, uh—don’t look. I will be gentle.”

Better to keep his gaze to the door. Still open to the ruby-lit hallway. No one yet. As promised, she gingerly blotted his wounds before wrapping the kerchief around his base. “Thank you.” If the proprietors knew, then he could expect his clothes shortly.

Gertrude stayed on the floor with him. The harness, broken into its fitting pieces, had been tossed in the far corner. “You know that this place—”

 They said it together. “—Is on the Consortium blacklist for not conforming to security standards, yes.”

At last she gave him a little space. “Crystal Circuits offers the same services—”

“—And conforms to security standards.”

“Then why—” “Because this place is mine, and—” He looked away. “I will discuss it with our group. Please do not tell anyone, not yet.” Tusark and Mol’s support group would understand. Eventually. Humans are irrational creatures. But the great shame was that someone had found a situation where his years of training did him no good.

She nodded. “But you should talk about it soon.” A smile crept onto her face. “Because this is too funny to keep to myself. Now that you are going to be fine.”

He liked Gertrude—come to think of it, he liked everyone from their support group—for her sensibility. The comment helped him smile at himself.

One of the proprietors personally came skittering down the hall to hand-deliver his clothes, personal affects, and a medical kit. “So many apologies, sir!” they blurted out. “We are still investigating the matter and, and, I just don’t know what happened! This has never happened before!”

Both pulled him to his feet whereupon the proprietor immediately wrapped a thick velvet drape around Nikolai’s waist. “This way, this way,” said the proprietor, beckoning them into a side room with worn but well-cushioned furniture and a fireplace. He quickly realized that this was where the staff came to relax; patrons weren’t meant to see it.

Hm, tobacco would be nice right now.

Not with Gertrude. Tobacco had strong religious associations in her culture, and she rightfully chided him for misusing the herb. He should learn more….

After more apologies, the proprietor told the two to take as long as they liked and to expect gifts as a formal apology from everyone at The House. Once it was just the two of them, Gertrude went for the door. “I will wait for you at the front. You cannot walk home by yourself.”

He was in no position to argue the matter.

Turned away from him, her voice grew solemn. “Nikolai. I…I think you should consider…seeing other places.”

He didn’t want to answer. This was too fresh. And the proprietors had apologized. No harm meant. Wiser people with spouses and thrilling romances always advised him to forgive the ones he loves. And while he could not describe it as love, his affection ran deep. The House remained when everything else in his life seemed to crumble.

“Nikolai?”

His eyes were stinging. “I will join you shortly. Thank you.”

She stepped out. He needed time to breathe. Time to cry. Time enough to forget the hand of Death which still tickled his throat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tough ride, but you know what to do. Take some time. This is a good one.

_“It was not the first one either.”_

_“How many?”_

_“I will never know. But there was one that—what is the word. Beyond the control of the Consortium. Many of them were expected. It is the nature of things when there is a leak. But this one—no one expected.”_

_\----------_

Uffta.

Another day on the transport. His eyes fluttered opened to the low light of his narrow quarters. The bed was adequate if a little shorter than what he used at home. Better than walking about the ship.

Nikolai liked being on Earth, and he didn’t mind being on other planets. It was the getting-to-and-from part that he loathed more than anything. Never slept well, ate well, or could be pleasant when on a transport.

Not that he slept very well at all, five years since Vevi. His current doctor and the committee declared that he could not take any sleeping medicine for the issue due to an unfixable flaw in his hardware which made it impossible to get accurate readings of his vitals.

But on the transport, no one was here to tell _him_ what to do.

And the sleeping pills always gave him a pleasant tingling when he woke from his slumber.

Well, the sooner he went up to the mess, the sooner he could check how much longer their journey would take, take his meal back to his quarters, and pop another pill to go back to sleep. As he dressed himself, he carefully considered the decision of what should be his meal for the day. He needed to eat enough to keep his weight stable. No one here to tell him what to eat either, opening new possibilities. Calf liver, caviar, a mackerel pirogi bigger than his fist, a glass or two of honeywine—or at least, the closest that the replicators could provide. He couldn’t sleep through the whole trip, so he’d better see what the mess had to offer and adjust his expectations.

He grabbed up the cane he still took on trips which he now needed only on occasion, but he had fashioned it into an excellent tool for field work and as a kind of disguise. This could be a tolerable trip. The first thing he’d do back home would be another visit to his beloved House. Even though it almost killed him before, it was a fluke. His subsequent visits were quite pleasant, and the gifts they offered him as apology were personally picked for him in mind—a silver-and-latinum cigarette case, another tobacco plant, and even a bottle of handmade vodka.

Standing at the door, he thought about tiding himself over for a time until he could touch the House. It would help him fall back into the depth of slumber. As the door slid open, he mused over how to spend the rest of his day.

If he was very clever, he could sneak a puff or two on a cigarette….

A blood smear down the hall, like someone had been dragged. Lights flickered red and white to indicate an emergency.

Nikolai took out his cigarette and his lighter, turning away as the doors closed. Better smoke it here before he went out.

_Couldn’t this happen on another ship? Anywhere but this one._

The in-quarters computers weren’t sophisticated like the ones on Starfleet ships or even in Consortium transports, but they could provide a baseline. A map of the single-deck ship had popped up on the screen with markers for damaged areas and paths around the damage. Next to the map flashed reports. No hull breaches that weren’t already handled.

Lucky him. A tile on the ceiling was clearly mark as entry into the ductwork—or whatever it was called on a ship. The small desk jutting out of the wall would be his step-stool. He should go aft toward the security and engineering area. It was best to assume the hallways were compromised. His objective: find an engineer, offer help, go to the mess for a bite, and go back to sleep. A few hours’ time, no more.

Field kit in his teeth, cane against his back, and cigarette case at his breast, Nikolai took his time through the surprisingly roomy ductwork. The tablet in hand displayed the same map he had seen before, but markings and signage within the guts of the ship kept him on route. The design counted on someone like him needing to avoid hallways.

He pushed on the brightly marked hatch to get him into the engineering and security area, and a step-ladder folded out to let him down. Perhaps he should rethink his relationship with spacecrafts.

Red lights. Ceiling panels knocked out to show wires and tubes. The transparent partition leading to the engine area contained a flat panel which alternated between two messages in tall letters:

ENGINE STABLE  
UNABLE TO ACHIEVE WARP

As his eyes adjusted, he caught the silhouettes of crewmembers on the floor. His heart sank. Setting his affects neatly by the ladder, he dragged each body out of its agonized, prone position to the farthest wall of the compact room. They were cold. Rigor mortis had set in. He'd have to break some joints to fold each of the four into a fetal position. Studying them as he went to work, he noticed burns on their faces and neck. On one, the face was gone. He couldn't place the pattern; years spent as an experiment and he still hadn't bothered to learn medicine.

The large workstation which took up half of the room blinked a solitary green light in its middle. It still had power, but he saw more electronic guts exposed by missing panels near the floor. A relaxing task. He took up his field kit and set to work. His objective: fix the workstation, contact the captain, offer further help, go to mess for a bite, and go back to sleep.

The nice thing about civilian hardware is much of it followed the same rules and designs. A few emery boards, a shaving razor, and a diamond scriber would do the trick. He indulged himself with a cigarette; with everything smelling like smoke, he doubted they would notice his. Maybe a "second career" after the Consortium as an engineer would make him happy. A new lifetime to spend on something he enjoyed. Deforest was already thinking about his post-retirement life, namely in waste management. Scrapping old things to make new things. Nikolai wavered on the subject. He couldn't imagine a purpose without the Consortium. They'd have to find a way to safely remove every piece of hardware. The price for all of it had been steeper than anyone believed. So why did the thought of removal bring him sadness?

Maybe he liked being special. With them, he was extremely special. Without, he had nothing but scars.

The workstation sang to announce its operation. Good, he could contact whoever was still in Navigation at the bow.

He turned his back to the workstation to stow his kit back in its place at the step-ladder. Blues and greens cast themselves on the opposite wall as the monitors flickered on. Fixing the workstation brought back his appetite. Fruit would be splendid after this ordeal. A cold soup with cream too. Whatever injured the ship had also raised the temperature. He could feel the sweat in his hair. It glued his shirt to his chest. 

His tablet's screen flashed and danced to indicate automated synchronization with the workstation. As he had hoped, the tablet could act as its extension. It defaulted to showing whatever was on the first of the five monitors.

The first hallway was empty. No debris, no bodies. In fact, no people at all.

Looking back at the monitors, it showed every hallway. Same as the first one. Strange.

The tablet was much more user-friendly than the workstation, so he switched to viewing all of the in-quarters cameras. Hopefully not a gross invasion of anyone’s privacy.

Downed pieces. Bodies. No one stirred. Same injuries as the crew he found.

A Union soldier stood in one of them, sorting through the deceased’s personal items. The soldier looked bored.

If there was one, there was more. Questions were for later. The Union soldier put some items in a small pack before stepping back into the hallway.

He recognized that hallway.

The pills. When they boarded the ship, they skipped his room because sensors read him as dead. He slept through a massacre.

He needed them to believe he was still dead.

The entrance to this room was shut, keeping him safe here for now.

The bodies in the corner were his only option. He grabbed the one with no face and broke it back into a straight position. The ductwork could fit them both. Taking a length of wire extracted from the workstation, he lashed together the corpse’s wrists. He’d carry it like a scarf. He took the field kit and the tablet. He’d have to risk leaving behind the cane and cigarette case.

The corpse found ways to knock against everything. Sweat made everything slippery. The tablet kept him updated. The Union soldier had ventured into the quarters directly across from his.

He reached the hatch leading back into his room. Now the harder part. He laid out the corpse on its side. From his field kit, he took a pen knife. He stared at the corpse. “When I find your family, I will tell them you saved my life.”

Climbing back onto the desk, he dragged the body over the hatch. He slashed deep into the corpse’s abdomen. Blood and bile spilled out, bathing him. He pushed his hands into the slit, grabbing at anything he could find and pulling it all out. Organs and more innards-juice rained down. He grabbed at everything. This was enough to work with.

Take the mirror from the field kit. The kit needs to stay hidden. Close the ceiling hatch. Careful stepping down. No time to crack his head. Take the bed sheets and mop up everything.

Take the organs in the pillow case. Mirror leaned on the wall in the bed, angled to catch the door. Get in bed. Pile the organs on top. Hide the tablet in the waistband. Bloodied pillow case to obscure his face. On his side, facing the compact mirror.

Wait.

If he could keep his breathing very shallow and very slow, he would live.

Wait.

Wait.

The door slid open and the Union soldier strolled in, unphased by the slaughter. The smell of death made no impression.

 _Just take what you want and go_.

A pressing against the back of his thigh made him stiffen and hold his breath. The soldier.

Two hands grabbed his. He kept his breath.

Fingertips pulling at the ring on his middle finger, a recent gift and attempt at being fashionable. The ring resisted.

His middle joint broke, but he couldn’t afford a whisper of pain. The ring slipped off.

The soldier seemed bored with the rest of the room and wandered back toward the door. Nikolai never saw what the soldier did with his ring.

When the soldier finally left, he bolted out of bed and cradled his hand to see the damage. A splint for now, but not yet.

Open the ceiling hatch. Pull down the corpse. Drag it into the bed. Do not change clothes. Do not bathe. Even with the stench stinking to the sinuses. No, can’t splint his finger yet. It would get in the way. And even now, the pain was subsiding from the adrenaline.

Back at engineering and security, the workstation gave Nikolai more: The transport had been boarded. A Union officer was holding control of Navigation at the bow with a small gaggle of spiny-alien soldiers. Tube-grown or bred, hard to say. They hadn’t bothered to clear the bodies. In the mess, two Union officers, their complement of soldiers, and a third figure in dark robes had taken hostages. Union officers obviously took great enjoyment out of the hours of torture.

He recognized his Consortium colleagues. But the four taken captive were just a lawyer and three law clerks. And the Union knew. The officers wanted entertainment. His colleagues needed rescue.

But. The Union commanders believed him dead. None of them knew his identity, what a prize he would make.  He was worth far more to the Union dead than any of those Consortium hostages were worth alive.

He needed to stay alive at the cost of leaving four people to die.

Taking back the ship would not further his goal. Nor would watching his colleagues’ agony. He switched to monitoring only the hallways. The lone officer had taken a seat to examine the spoils of war. Good. His broken finger was worth keeping the soldier occupied.

He should consider the worst; they had no reason to leave the ship intact. The exercise of taking the ship with a corps of twenty soldiers when three would have easily overwhelmed the crew came about because during wartime, the Union instructed their military to stave off boredom by indulging in cruelty. The rigor of the bodies told him they took the ship hours ago.

Thus, any moment now, this invasion would lose its charm, or their “toys” would expire. They would destroy the transport along with its records and move on to something more interesting.

The families of these people deserved to know what happened.

With the pen knife, he cut away part of his gristled vest and shirt. He took the kerchief from his field kit to wipe away the grime on his trunk, cleaning the three silver discs on his side. Six ports for storing information. The workstation’s data transfer umbilicus lay coiled in its alcove dead-center of the console. Drawing out the black cable that seemed to twist with the muscles of a python, he checked the port to find four lights labeled A, T, C, and U.  It was healthy.

Despite reassurances that it was perfectly safe, Nikolai had developed a superstitious fear of direct interfacing with any computers.  

Looking away, he pressed the port to the first disc on his left side. The umbilicus slid through his fingers, snaking in to find its mate. A phantom ring of hot burned around the disc but quickly dissipated.

He tapped the button on the console designated for downloading what was considered critical files: ship manifest, the recordings he saw, safety and security information, and other pieces needed for recreating the full story of a ship’s journey. He would need to use all the discs to capture everything.

The data transfer took time, and joining the umbilicus to his body each time put a shudder through his spine. One of his ports was already half-full from information he had been given at a previous rendezvous point, the whole reason for this current trip.

Against all odds, the last port had just enough room to hold the last partition. He found himself exhaling a held breath as he disconnected the umbilicus for the last time.

Time to prepare.

His kit, his tablet, his cane, and his cigarette case. He wanted to be found with all the possessions that mattered.

Consulting the cameras showed nothing had changed for the Union officers. He took to the ductwork once more, and the tablet guided him to the empty hallway where the medical supplies were stored. Instead of any real medical section, all supplies were stored in an alcove adjacent the mess. The well-placed handle of his cane and a bit of determined grit proved a claim he’d been told years ago: The feeble locks on the supply cabinets were meant to keep the items in but not the people out.

A black preservation bag. Civilian transports only carried half a dozen, expecting to use all of them over the ship’s lifetime, not in a single incident. He needed this one more than any of the dead.

The tablet guided him down into the hold of the transport, a place few degrees cooler than the rest of the ship. Among the possessions of his fellow passengers, he effortlessly unfurled the preservation bag. The hull around him would turn to debris any moment now.

He checked the tablet. The halls had not changed. It occurred to him just now that even if the right people found him—perhaps a passing Starfleet vessel—they needed more information. Pulling a grease pencil from his field kit, he flipped over the tablet.

The pencil hovered above the back of the tablet in hesitation. He wanted to write a eulogy for all his fallen fellow travelers. A parting letter to his friends. Something more than dispassionate instructions.

His actions would have to speak for him instead. The instructions were more important.

Some room to spare on the tablet, he finished the instructions with a sendoff: “All life is valuable.”

By now, his broken finger had swollen terribly and began to throb with pain as the adrenaline abated. Weariness was flowing into his veins.

Everything neatly arranged in the preservation bag, he crawled in and closed the aperture.  The bag could only keep his pieces together, not protect them. Searing temperatures and concussive force of the explosion or by the limitless cold and nonexistent pressure of space. Painful but short.

The officers and their retinues had taken to the hallways, proceeding to the engine room no doubt.

He had to know. Switching to the camera in the mess, he saw four bodies. Faces burnt off from shots. At least their suffering had ended.

He had won. Folding his arms over the tablet to keep it close for whoever found him, he waited.

Exhausted as he was, he couldn’t fall asleep. He wanted to see the very end.

Dying in one’s own comforting bed surrounded by loved ones was for the ordinary people he dedicated himself to protecting.

This was a good way to go. Helping ordinary people. In the darkness where no one would see or hear.

Did his friends know how much he loved them?

How much they enriched his life?

Did Tusark and Mol and Deforest know what they had done for him? Did his subordinates know?

He never decided if he was ready to forgive Vevi.

After saying for years how he gave his soul to the Consortium, Nikolai wanted it now to be literal.

Somewhere in a warehouse, the stuff of his soul resides, safely sealed. Or perhaps it was in the many vials of specimens drawn from him over the years. Maybe it was in his reports and paperwork. Far away from here, his soul lived on and would live on, unburdened by this body.

He gave up any expectation of a long life after the first surgery. He only wanted to die on his own terms. He could lie here and wait, comforted by the knowledge that he had been right about everything.

This was good.

…Why was he still alive?

Instinct crept back. Why hadn’t he attempted to take back the ship? Why would he lie down and die?

No, no, he had his reasons.

And as he churned in his own torment, it dawned on him—nothing was happening.

Consulting the tablet, he couldn’t access the cameras again. They had destroyed the security workstation. Had they discovered his work and now lay in wait? No, he expected them to simply sweep the ship and find him.

He slipped out of the preservation bag to peek out of the hold. The emergency lights were off, returning the ship to its normal lighting. The air smelled stale like someone had shut off the recyclers.

By Providence, he _had_ won. They left the ship intact. He snatched up the bag keeping his tools together to make his way forward into Navigation. Time. The one thing he thought he’d lost.

His hope swelled as he found a messy spread of wires and console parts throughout Navigation. To find nothing on fire gave him confidence. The innards of the Communications workstation had kept close to their origin. Ignoring his broken finger, he set to work.

It took nearly every tool at his disposal. A beacon. He needed to make contact with someone. Anyone.

Home was within reach. His own bed. His office. His friends.

The voice crackled through the workstation. “—Is—Tran—spond—pl—Is—” As he worked, the voice became more distinct. “—This is—port—Please respond—this—hailing—hailing—please—spond---This is Civilian Transport—hail—please respond—This is Civilian Transport—please respond—”

The hand with his broken finger found a mouthpiece. “Hailing,” he answered. Please respond.

Surprise in the voice. “Hailing!” Then giddiness. “Transport, your status!”

“Engine intact.” Nikolai chuckled in relief. “The ship can be repaired.”

“And the crew?”

He turned to the rest of the room. Bodies everywhere. Just like the rest of the ship. He looked at the gore which had now dried on his skin and clothes. How dare he call this victory. “They.” He touched the silver discs on his trunk. “They are dead.”

“Oh god. I am so sorry. What about the passengers?”

“They are also.” He needed a breath to steady himself. “No one else survived.”

A sob. “We saw the attack. We hid behind the nearest moon. We, we thought they would kill us.”

He dabbed his eyes with his wrist. “They would have.”

++

Waiting in the foyer of the docking bay terminal, Nikolai practiced walking as he once had in his first years with the Consortium. Best to dance regularly again; he hadn’t been maintaining his physical skills since the covert war had spilled into open declarations of hostility. His hosts aboard the Starfleet space station Maryam cared for his needs, providing a blindingly bright electric green version of the crew’s standard-issue uniforms. Midnight shift left the station quiet, but the ambient noise of the machinery kept the uncomfortable tingle in his spine. In lieu of smoking, he chewed the end of a _miswak_ stick.

The entrance doors opened and through them hurried Deforest, haggard and graying around his temples. The moment they saw each other, relief brightened his features. Tusark and Mol walked behind him, looking more formal than Deforest for reasons he didn’t understand yet. Their faces remained characteristically stoic, but their eyes twinkled.

Deforest gave him a quick, hard embrace. It took Nikolai off-guard and he haphazardly returned the gesture. “I heard new rules forbid us from traveling on civilian vessels.” An obvious reaction to the attack on his transport.

“We chartered the ship ourselves because none would fly past the station from Earth.” Deforest squeezed his shoulders. “We came as quickly as we could.”

“Well, I did not expect an escort to take me home.” Inaccurately-named “crash investigators” remanded him to the Maryam, leaving him to climb the walls of his quarters while the station’s planet and large, cosmopolitan settlement taunted him through his window each day.

“Yes.”  He sounded distracted. “But we do also come with business from the Consortium.” With another squeeze of his shoulder, Deforest added, “The trip required members from Data Security, Data Integrity, and Computational Field Analytics. We personally arranged to come as representatives to see our friend.”

He had called them at the first moment the investigators gave to cut open his heart and let spill forth everything he feared would remain forever unsaid. No need to gush about what the gesture meant. They did it because they already knew. He led them away. “Did the surgery go well?”

Deforest eagerly rolled up his sleeve to reveal the silver disc on his bicep. “New technique with quicker recovery. Dr. Wangari did it.”

“Oh yes, the new doctor.” Turning a corner, he reflexively nodded to some station crew who stopped to stare with intense curiosity.

“I understand now why you do not like to directly interface with computers.” Deforest leaned in. “Very intimate, yes? I was too embarrassed to let Dr. Wangari watch during testing.”

“And yet strangely, it is not the same with transfer sticks.” With enough liquid persuasion, Nikolai may have admitted to things he did with his own data ports and the House of Holes. Soon. He would see his House soon…

Arriving at an unmarked door, Nikolai placed his hand on the reader; he waited for the fine prick of his finger. A few musical chirps and the door opened. “I hear they built this skiff earlier this year.” A clean, soft gray room with a splash of primary colors on the table, the chairs, and the benches. “I believe they are now required on all stations as part of the war.”

They took seats at the table, his friends on one side and him across. “I expect this will not take long? You should see the station before we leave.”

Deforest did not make eye contact when he began. “You cannot come back to Earth. Not yet. Not now.”

Nikolai leaned back in his chair with a groan. Alas, his wishes were too lofty. “I understand,” he grunted, stretching. “What planet will I be visiting this time?” He twirled the _miswak_ stick around his knuckle to exercise the formerly-broken finger.

“Not a planet.”

Mol slid a tablet across to him. “We have confirmed revival of Project Eraser.”

Shrill and buzzing ambience of the space station. “…Please repeat?”

She picked up the tablet and leaned over to put it square in his hands. “Project Eraser has been revived. Or Project White Wash, as your language allows.” The Consortium gave it many euphemisms so they could discuss it openly without fear of discovery. They referred to the same thing: a section deep within Starfleet Intelligence created for the purpose of doing things that Starfleet did not want to know it was doing.

His own project. His safety was one thing, but he was still expendable. His project members were not. And they were good people. “My volunteers. Are they safe? The other members of our project, where are they—”

Deforest pointed to the tablet. “All ninety volunteers were sent to separate sites in groups of three, and we have spread the supporting project members among them. Everything you need to keep in touch and keep working is here. They are safe, I promise.”

He stared down at the tablet, unable to focus on anything displayed. “And. And Dr. Chiaaso?”

“She will remain with me in Cheng Du.”

She damn well better. “Good.” He made another connection. “Wait. You are staying. You are using yourself as a honeypot.” Until then, Deforest had spoken vaguely about his reasons for volunteering to install a piece of hardware—the least interesting or important type, perfect for appearing important without betraying what he actually knew.

“It will keep all of you safe.” Deforest’s shoulders slumped. “You must know. Project Eraser has been recruiting assets on our floor. Ginger and Toby informed me that they were approached. They helped me clear everything from your office.”

At least there were still people he could trust. “So which planet—forgive me—moon will I be visiting?” Chewing on the _miswak_ calmed the oral fixation he had developed from his smoking hobby.

“Nikolai, the only place that is safe for you is here, on this space station. Away from home.”

No. “That is not possible.” No, no. no.

“Nikolai, listen—Nikolai, please— _Nikolai_. The Maryam has a good crew. Most of them come from the planet, so there is very strong incentive to keep this planetary system safe. They are equipped for the sort of investigations you went through after the transport incident, but Starfleet Intelligence finds the station too small for its own resourcing. It is perfect. No one would believe that you were here.”

“Could I not take residence on the _planet_ instead?”

“No. You may visit, of course. But.” Deforest chewed his lip for a moment. “This is home.”

Nikolai realized he had bitten clean through the _miswak_. His anger alone could have snapped the table in two. “This?” He stood up, throwing down the tablet. “This is why I do not work with Starfleet Intelligence.”

Damn everything. He spat out the splinters in his mouth. The ambience of the space station was making his ears ring. These stupid clothes. In a fit, he ripped off the overshirt to crumple and lob into the corner. The gray-lavender undershirt was more tolerable. He still hated wearing their clothes. “I—this—” No words were enough. He was pacing and growling to himself, close to choking on his own rage.

“There is more.”

He couldn’t look at any of them. “There is _always_ more. Tell me, who is this admiral making the decision that laws and standards are _inconvenient_?” Normally quiet and measured, his shouting reverberated back and forth through the skiff. “Do they ever consider Computational Ethics? Have they even considered speaking to one law scholar, one data epistemologist? Why—” He wanted to scream until his larynx tore itself to ribbons. “Why are they so arrogant as to think that they are _beyond_ morality?”

Falling back into the chair, he felt a throbbing around the implants in his head. He massaged his temples. “I apologize for not maintaining my composure.”

“Your reaction has been measured compared to others,” said Mol. “I believe I was on your office floor when Deforest found out. He was quite loud about his displeasure.”

Deforest folded his arms in a huff. “It had not been a good day. And I stand by what I said. I hope the whole building heard me.”

“And I believe your volunteers were—what is the word—apoplectic? Many did not speak so much as hiss and—the word—bark? Growl? They were equally displeased.”

Then his volunteers knew right from wrong. He had chosen well with all of them. “I stopped you before. What more is there?” The _miswak_ lay on the table. He picked it up to occupy his teeth.

Mol, true to her species, did not soften the news. “It is inevitable Project White Wash will use your incident on the transport as a tool for recruitment and justifying its existence. You and your work are already known because of the original leak which exposed you. You who are from the Data Consortium survived without injury while your colleagues from the Legal Consortium died; without context, one would draw the conclusion that Data believes it is more important than Legal, and Project White Wash will offer protection to those who do not believe they are safe. Prepare yourself for what may come.”

“No, no, they would not—” “They will.” The words cut him. “You are a small sacrifice for Project White Wash’s goals. You are not so important that your career, your honor, and your character are not expendable.“

Nikolai considered the obstacles to finding whoever revived Project Eraser and eliminating them. Starfleet Intelligence could be notoriously sloppy when it came to data hygienics. Shrewd operatives would have ensured that the Consortium never learned of this. Hubris in recruiting directly from the Consortium pointed to a lack of resources. They were small. They were still vulnerable. With enough planning, perhaps he could vanish every project member by himself....

"Whatever you are thinking, it is ill-advised," warned Deforest. "I already ran the models.”

He was back on his feet, pacing lest his bones catch fire from his fury. He wanted blood. "They constantly complain about how little we share, and then they insist on these lesser standards. I--" he hissed "--What is more important than--" Ten days without a cigarette and this stupid miswak stick helped nothing. He spat out more splinters. "What is more important than protecting our citizens." Ordinary people. The people on the transport.

Mol followed him with her eyes. "I am confident that protecting citizens is their aim."

"But there is a right way!" He couldn't punch anything and took to gesturing wildly. He didn’t care anymore that he was shouting at his friends. "There is a just and moral way! There is a way which affirms what it is we owe to each other as different beings who must co-exist in this society!"

A goddamn cigarette would be a lot of help right now. He took a breath to calm his racing heart, having to massage his temples as the aches of his implants overtook his thoughts. "You already know these things."

"Yes."

The noise of the space station would not leave his ears. How was he expected to live here?

And he still hadn't recovered from the incident. He still hadn't forgiven himself. His eyes fell to the floor. "I should have helped them." What if it had been one of his friends captured? Why should he treat differently the people he left to die because he did not know them?

Tusark broke the silence. "Did you have any opportunity to review recordings you recovered?"

He shook his head. "I was never allowed. They told me Data Integrity took custody of it."

"We did. And I did review the evidence you collected." His stoic demeanor did not break even as his eyes flitted away for a moment. "The captives did not believe they would be rescued. They did not call out for help. They begged their captors for their lives, believing that they were the only survivors. You could not betray them. They did not know you were still alive. These things are true, and they will still be used to create falsehoods about your character and your conduct.”

"But everything I have done…." “Everything you have done will not matter.”  Perhaps he should have perished with the rest of them.

"There are things I have not told you because you are younger than the others in our social gathering, and there has been no necessity until now." As he spoke, he met Mol's gaze. "She Who Is My Wife expressed interest in bringing forth a third child. And as you know, my injury as well as my escape and journey to reach Homeworld left me unable to meet that interest."

After his own little incident at the House of Holes, even oblique references to Tusark's injury put a pinch in his perineum.

"I thought when I returned to Homeworld, I would never need to speak of it again. I did what was necessary, and the sacrifice I made helped my fellow captives." A soft crease came to his brow. "Instead, I spent my time in Data Integrity vetting intelligence related to the incident. We never found the other captives, and the incident became a reference point for many different misinformation operations. Not only was I a witness, I was reliable. In my duty to the Consortium, I was asked to relive every single aspect of my experience. Each day I was asked to recall details I never intended to speak aloud." His gaze went through Nikolai. "No one questioned the logic of asking me to do this."

Tusark touched his wife's shoulder as he continued. "I did not perform to the best of my abilities when asked to do such things. I made an error and implicated myself in the schemes of a hostile government. For my error, I underwent reevaluation."

Nikolai needed to know. "What was it like?" Surely, everything he had heard would be gross exaggerations.

His friend’s response stopped his heart. "It is everything you have been told. And it is more. No secret can escape its light."

He needed to sit down. All the hardware in his body felt heavy. In an absentminded moment, he reached for the cigarette case he didn’t have. Even sitting down, he could still feel the hardware pressing into his tissues.

Tusark's tone softened. "It is inevitable to undergo reevaluation once in one's career. You will error, and your error will cause great harm. The standard to which we hold ourselves is extreme for any one person to meet. It is why we work together." His species had a habit of taking their time, always careful to choose their words. "It is also inevitable that my incident would become a tool of misinformation. If Project White Wash were active at the time, they would have use it to their own ends. Consortium did not anticipate nor control my incident and thus could not protect me. This is its greatest weakness."

He didn't want to look anywhere except the table. "There is nothing I can do. Is that correct?"

"That is correct. The moral dilemma presented to you was highly irregular and could not be understood well by most. You made a choice, and you recovered unimpeachable evidence of true events, an act you alone on the ship could perform as the vital records computer had been destroyed. If you have trained your subordinates well, they will ignore the falsehoods. But if you involve yourself and attempt to counter every attack, you cannot return from such a path." His voice became sharp. "Nothing good will come from reliving this experience in pursuit of this path."

The aches around his implants persisted as they dulled. "How--W--What. How long. The hostages on the transport. How long did they live?"

"No." Tusark stood up, Mol following him. "It will only inflict greater pain. You will learn what is important when you are sent the report for your approval. I cannot say more and claim that I am your friend."

The door slid open for the couple. Mol spoke up as her husband fell into one of his silent reveries. "We shall unpack for you. We brought all that you need to make this place your new home. After ten days, we must return to Earth."

The door whiffed their robes as they walked out, missing the cloth by a few hairs.

He looked over to the overshirt still crumpled in the corner. Well. Better put it back on before anyone sees him. Until he received credentials, they required him to wear the ugliest piece of clothing he had ever seen.

Without prompting, Deforest fetch the overshirt for him. “I had to keep you safe.” He sat down so they’d be on the same side, and he laid out the shirt to smooth out the creases. “I cannot call you Little Brother if I do not protect you.”

 _Little Brother_. What he embarrassed him most was how much he loved it. His own half-brother was ten years younger, and he grew up expecting to always be alone. His duty was to always look after others, a duty he took seriously in his ferocious protection of his subordinates. He didn’t yet know how to rely on others. To be called _Little Brother_ was to hear someone say, “I love you. And you can always ask me for help when you cannot help yourself.”

“And after all.” Oh, he better not. Deforest’s grin gave it away. “Of all everyone I know—” “Deforest, no—” “Of every person I have ever met—” “Deforest, do not—” “Of everyone I could ever know—” “Stop—” “You, Nikolai Florian Gastonovich LeVanne—” “You are an ass—” “Are, without any doubt, the most.”

He groaned, gesturing for him to finish already. “I am the most…what.”

Deforest’s grin grew even wider. “Human.”

Rolling his eyes at the aphorism had become a reflex. “You are an absolute ass. Are you aware of that?” It was trite by itself but took on a whole new kind of annoyance after receiving his hardware.

“Is that so?” He elbowed Nikolai in the ribs with a chuckle. “Is that so?”

Despite how endlessly irritating his friends could be, he loved it. He loved the jokes, the teasing, the embarrassing stories they traded, the ways they tore each other down and built them back up. If there was a veil into another world through which he would one day pass, these moments are what he would miss the most. “Enough, stop it.”

He reached behind his back. “Before I forget. Since you will miss Spring Festival on Earth.” From his waistband he pulled a beautiful bright red envelope. “I thought you should have this now. We had to leave so quickly that I did not give Ma a chance to even make you rice, but she somehow found time to send with me a case of candy boxes. Her gift to you: she says ‘make new friends with them.’”

Lily Chiung was the type of person who adopted strays like him, healed them, and let them decide if they wanted to stay. She just believed that everyone, everything, deserved a chance to get well and restart their lives. It was why she and her son spoke every day, even if he called her to say he was still mad about something from the day before. Nikolai couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to his own family; he didn’t call them after the first surgery, the new assignments, or even after the transport attack.

Deforest placed the envelope in his hands. “She is right. This is a reliable crew that specializes in the investigation you just went through. People bring them wreckage all the time and wartime allows for direct procurement.”

Opening the flap, he couldn’t help cooing, “Oh, Deforest. This is too much….” A gold cigarette holder and some lengths of gold wire, the latter perfect additions to his field kits. “You said you hated my smoking.”

“I do. But you will be here a long time.” His smile disappeared. “You _will_ be here a long time. Consider. Well, consider this a cover. But not for your work. For yourself. No one knows anything about you except the true events of the attack. You decide how much they know.”

He held the cigarette holder to the light; it was so smooth, he could almost see his reflection. And it looked nothing like anything else he owned.

He decided what they knew.

That gave him a new idea.

Deforest couldn’t know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my gentle readers: a welcomed respite.

_Her guests yawned, and she filled their bowls again. They leaned on each other._

_“Did you see him again?”_

_Vevi looked out the window to the beautiful, calming night._

_“Yes. It was during The War.”_

_\----------_

The stars of her home were one thing Vevi missed so much it hurt her soul.

“And, we have landed,” chimed the shuttle pilot. “Welcome to Space Station Maryam, Doctor.” The pilot had explained why at all they needed the shuttle but she hadn’t been listening. She wanted terribly to see Homeworld. See what had happened.

As they step onto the landing deck, the pilot called out to the other crewmembers handling their luggage. “Coming across lively, shuttleworms!” A rabble of unintelligible calls responded. “It is still another two hours before morning shift. I can’t imagine the Consortium having business here that’s so important it can’t wait.”

From her read, the pilot merely wanted to fill the air with rhetorical musings. He didn’t expect her to provide any information.

The terminal, a space station’s first impression to its visitors, had soft music masking the expected ambient noise that all the stations made. Plenty of plush seats and couches in bright colors to stand out against the grays. Even the carpet came in pleasing, colorful patterns. It bordered on unprofessional.

A young security officer cheerily approached, her head poking out from the head-obscuring scarf that matched her uniform. She remembered this was a custom among certain humans. “Dr. Vevi Chiaaso from the Consortium, no? Was your journey here safe?”

Her read said to answer the second question. “Yes. It was uneventful.”

“Mr. LeVanne’s standing request for Consortium personnel to see him as soon as they arrive.”

Her pilot left and her new escort led her off. “You have not called him?”

“Oh, no reason. I know where he is, and he is expecting you.”

A read was one thing, but extraction was a delicate task. Vevi couldn’t just snatch the thought out of her escort’s head or else the officer would notice. She’d have to settle for talking. Her words would need to optimize her information gathering. “I have known Mr. LeVanne for almost ten years now.”

The officer—ah, Ensign Al-Ghazzawi from her read. She spun around and clapped excitedly at the news. “He did not tell us this!” Us, meaning the entire crew of the space station. The ensign’s steps had an extra spring as they walked. “What was he like when you first met? Was he always with the Consortium? Wha—” And so on and so on. Instead of waiting for answers, she babbled on, saying her thoughts aloud as her mind was a menagerie of birds which flitted whichever way they would.

Listening and reading, the partial picture Vevi created only presented more questions. Nikolai had been on the space station for eighteen months now, and his introduction to the crew had been by handing out candy boxes to the lowest-ranking crewmembers instead of any officers. He had brought his own collection of plants and cared for them in the arboretum. His schedule, independent of the station’s own operations, gave him opportunity to meet everyone but also made him mysterious as to the hours he kept; predicting his whereabouts became a game among the crew, assuming he hadn’t left to visit the planet below. The telepaths within the crew found him both troubling and fascinating because he used his invisibility to tease them. He was playful, sociable, and bold.

Ensign Al-Ghazzawi pictured Nikolai in her head as she spoke, but Vevi determined that she was mistaken. This was someone who looked like him, but it was not him.

“His quarters?” At last, after lifts and corridors, they reached a door.

“No,” she laughed, “a recreational space, but he convinced us to transform a portion of it into a dance studio.” She tapped the console to enter. “Such a clever proposal when he said we could make mirrors from the transparent aluminum—” The ensign continued into more strange flattery of someone who was certainly not Nikolai.

Music came above the voices of the people in the studio. Mirrors along the two walls she saw and what looked like a light wooden floor. Her escort murmured something about how much she liked to watch the dancers.

The phenotypic diversity of the human species asserted itself in this space. Hair, skin, and even body compositions were unique to each individual and defied expectation. A corpulent woman in purple was casting off the tyranny of gravity. A short squat man stomped deliberately. And the group constantly chattered like the birds outside Deforest’s office window.

“Ah, there he is!” Ensign Al-Ghazzawi whispered, nodding to the corner of the room. “Let’s wait until he has a moment.” She meant after she watched him dance; it was the ensign’s true reason for coming here instead of calling ahead.

Nikolai. Hard to miss as he was one of the tallest. A white towel wiping down his face. Black strapped bodysuit exposing his shoulders, half his chest, and even much of his back to let her catch a glimpse of how her work had aged. The scars were visible but not so prominent. And he had hair now, long hair bound back. She forgot it was black too. He must have said something clever because the group around him laughed. He beamed with pride, a smile of straight white teeth.

He and two other dancers came with him into the cleared area while the other dancers yielded. The music changed. “Oh, watch this!” The ensign gasped in excitement.

Nothing on Homeworld looked like what they did. Nikolai, when he leapt into the air, could touch his toes against the back of his head. He was a hoop. Then a pair of scissors. Then a windmill. A spinning top. He could balance on his heels with the ease of someone walking.  And the other dancers began chanting “Cossack step!” before he did something she could not describe except as the way one punishes their knees.

She’d never seen him happier. She didn’t think it was possible for him to be happy.

“He is so athletic,” cooed the ensign breathlessly. “And so graceful.”

As soon as he finished, they clapped appreciatively. He noticed the door was opened. Vevi watched the ensign’s face darken with a giddy nervous smile.

She watched the joy and color evaporate from Nikolai’s face.

And then the familiar, practiced mask of bland politeness fell over him. He glanced longingly at the others before striding over. The ensign remained oblivious as she bowed slightly with a hand pressed to her chest. “Mr. LeVanne, you were wonderful! I wish I could dance like you!”

“Anyone is welcome to the studio,” he said, huffing slightly and fanning himself with a free hand. “Visit as often as you like.” And finally, after seven years, he spoke to her. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Chiaaso.”

“It is good to see you, Nikolai.”

“Yes, well, you will want to see your quarters right away, I am certain.” He coughed politely. “Please allow me to change. Ensign, I thank you. I will meet the doctor at her quarters.”

The ensign sent him off with a flirty wave before tugging at her headscarf to cool her collar. “Oh, he is wonderful. I know, he is not strikingly handsome in any way, but his face has character, no? I always found green eyes attractive and his are gray which normally I do not like at all, but they are expressive, no? Oh, you are so lucky to have known him! Tell me, how did you meet?”

Vevi glanced out a window as they walked. “We met through work….”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle readers: be warned, a bit of gaslighting. Take it slow.

She had been sleeping when the chirping of the door announced Nikolai’s arrival. Sleep was the only way to escape the many ways that the crew assaulted her brain with information about someone who was very much not Nikolai. This person they were talking about was a simulacrum built to deceive them. To what end? Unknown for now.

Taking great pains to practice stealth for the sole purpose of sneaking up on telepaths to tap their shoulder and dodge out of sight? Not him. Attending any parties, let alone ones that lasted until morning? Never. History between them was enough to tell her not to trust him. Intuition confirmed what she already knew.

Seeing him at her door, she found small changes. Same gray eyes but no deep lines under them. Same outfit that she remembered but no cane, making him seem taller. Same scars but not so clean; his other doctors hadn’t been re-cutting the incisions like she instructed them.

“It is good to see you, Nikolai.”

He turned away, gesturing for her to follow. “You may regret those words.”

Instead of being accosted every five steps, the crew nodded reverently toward them or ignored altogether. Reading all of them, she gathered this was a rule he’d established. The few who forgot themselves could be silenced with only a glance. Impressive for people who loitered in corridors with no discernable reason except to trade gossip.

“I heard they captured Homeworld.” He meant hers. “Is your family safe?”

“I do not know.”

His tone was disarmingly compassionate. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

She mumbled reflexively, “I doubt that is true.”

“Your belief is not required to make it true.”

Talking was work. He took the hint. They passed a telepath who gave them both a queer look and quickly reminded her that Nikolai was “a tricky one” and she should watch carefully.

When they reached the medical laboratories, two women jumped from their desks to make their introductions. Lieutenant Akilah Moses and Dr. Rebecca Lazarus, his primary resources for the work he’d done over the past eighteen months. Already, she did not like this. Starfleet resources should not be used on Consortium projects, and this project had invited so much trouble into their lives on its own. Starfleet always complicated things.

The women wasted no time, pulling them into a small conference room to give a thorough presentation on themselves, what made them qualified to work on the project, and the most impactful work they had done in the past eighteen months. What he had asked them to do was extraordinary and outside their abilities, but he needed hands. Support from their superiors in Engineering and Medical helped quite a bit, although this slow spread of knowledge also concerned her. He said nothing the entire time as he stood in the back, his smile of support waxing and waning but never disappearing.

“As you can see, Doctor,” said Dr. Lazarus, gesturing to a holographic map of her patient and his hardware, “the bulk of our work has been minor improvements. The most complex piece yet was the ascorbic acid unit we installed to ensure no wounds ever re-open. It can be modified easily for other species.” She chuckled giddily. “We are very proud of it.”

The psychic barrage from the crew had worn her down to where since meeting these two, she had been actively blocking them out. But she could still feel that they were leading into something dark.

Lt. Moses brought up a new diagram. A device. “We have built a prototype—” she continued with Vevi only half-listening because the design maps, diagrams, and technical notes said everything. Installed at the base of the skull, linked to the network of every single piece of hardware. A switch governed by heartbeat. If the heart stopped, a mechanism released. All hardware flooded with—something, she couldn’t read it—to destroy and corrode it instantly. The brain and spinal cord flooded with the same substance, burning away all tissue.

She didn’t notice if the lieutenant was still talking. “Nikolai, a word?”

A strange pause. “Dr. Lazarus and Lt. Moses, please give us the room.” He was not smiling.

Once they left, she stood from her seat. She should consider negotiating. Start with an offer. “Did I tell you that Deforest asked me to bring you a gift?”

“You did not.” Cool and collected, the way he preferred people to see him.

“Yes.” She pretended to check her fingernails. “I do not know what to call it, but the translator calls it a ‘Strict Machine’ if that sounds familiar.”

He leaned forward with guarded interest, taking a few steps. “I see.”

“Yes, yes, I should give it to you for…well, he did not tell me. But it sounds important.”

“Tell me.” His composure was cracking, the hunger now evident in his voice. “Does it conform to Consortium security standards?”

“Well, Deforest told me each unit is custom-built to the standards of the future owner, so I understand that this one is one of the most secure units in existence, and it is specialized for your needs.” To this news, he closed his eyes with a small shudder. Opening them again, the resolve in his eyes and the shadows on his face gave him a predatory air.

He slid in close, dropping his voice. “And. When should I expect to…acquire this?”

“Well,” she answered softly. “We can discuss that as soon as you destroy all work related to the device you have built.”

He sneered and recoiled, immediately retreating to the other side of the small round table. “This is well within the mandate and constraints of our project. And I do not appreciate having my _gift_ used as leverage to exert your will.”

She would not suffer his insolence. “If I find something that betrays my oath as a doctor, I am required to object! _This_ device—” she pointed to the diagram,”—is unacceptable. It does not conform to our standards and practices, and it is a gross violation of my own culture.”

“Doctor, I do not think you hold a strong position to argue moral consequences.” He pulled a hand-size silver case from his inner vest pocket, opening it in his hand to reveal twelve thin white cylinders, a gold thing, some compartment, and what looked like phaser parts. “Do excuse me, cigarettes help me think.”

The cigarette went into its gold holder and the holder to his lips. The phaser parts had been assembled into a heat source, and she watched the end of the cigarette catch fire. The smell was unbearable, and he was inhaling smoke. She could not allow it, and she reached over to snatch the cigarette from its holder to throw across the room.

He calmly strode to fetch the still-smoking cigarette. “Filling my case takes thirty hours of work.”

She didn’t care if it took 1000 hours. “Deforest told me about your hobby. You should find a new one.”

“Yes, yes, it is a terrible and nasty thing, utterly monstrous.” He replaced it in his holder and took a deep breath, exhaling a great gush of smoke. “As soon as I finish here, I assure you, it is my next priority.”

She would berate him for it later. “Do they understand that for this device to work, you could never disable your blocker? That….” A coldness came to her skin, and she shivered. “That you would be alone in your head. For the rest of your life.”

Nikolai did not share her concern. “You are mistaken. I could disable my blocker, but I can only do it once.”

She remembered his species’ axiom ‘Hell is other people.’ Only a species of non-telepaths would have such an unenlightened view of others. “What about hazards to your health? A surgery may require us to stop your heart. Is there an override for the device if we need to operate?”

“No.” “Can it be removed?” “No.” “Once installed, can we remove any of your other hardware?” “No.”

Vevi found herself shaking in frustration. “If we provide you with this device. You will condemn yourself to a life of isolation, turn minor medical intervention into life-threatening procedures, and destroy any opportunity you may have for retiring from the Consortium. And you are…comfortable with this.”

He puffed on the vile cigarette holder. “Yes. It is a failsafe.”

“It is a suicide switch!” His scheme held layers and led to self-destructive outcomes. He hadn’t changed, no matter what he wanted the crew of the space station to believe. “Another contrived punishment for doing my job! And once again, you hand me another one of your secrets for the sake of your reputation!”

Nikolai sat on the edge of the table, evidently with nothing useful to say as more smoke spilled forth.

He needed discipline. “This is far beyond the bounds of what is allowable, and this demand shows me that you are still ungrateful after everything I gave and everything I did!” She couldn’t stand toe-to-toe as he kept blowing smoke in her face to maintain distance. “I birthed you! You asked me to ‘never be in the same room as you’, but I have remained crucial to your achievements! Without me, each of your field assignments would have been one unmitigated disaster after another for the Consortium and for the civilians we protect!”

Everything she said, it was true. It had to be true. And yet he just sat there, smoking.

“I am your gatekeeper! I am the lead doctor on this project, and you will not use your own fascination with death as an excuse to endanger my life’s work!”

Nikolai took the golden holder from his lips. She couldn’t read his mind or even his face.

“Speak! I deserve an explanation after seven years!”

He tapped a bit of ash into the compartment of his silver case. “Doctor,” he said softly, “our government is fighting for survival against a force with a single objective: conquest through total war. A little over a year after conflicts began, this force had captured unconquerable planets. And our own defensive fleet revived a piece within its intelligence apparatus which puts every single one of us in great danger.” He closed the case to place it back in his inner vest pocket. “Have you considered that destroying your life’s work could become the only option to ensure survival?”

She froze. “What….” Words were so hard now. “What. What are you talking about?”

“It is a fact that, since the leak which exposed me but somehow failed to expose you, I and my volunteers are much more valuable to other governments dead than alive. What we know will never be as important as what we have.” His voice remained smooth as the cuts she made with her plasma scalpel.  “How hard is it to re-engineer my parts for use on…well, let’s say a planet of telepaths.”

Her hands felt numb. Her face was numb.

His words chilled her. “A government like the one who seeks our subjugation can easily mass-manufacture these re-engineered parts. And with these parts, why would they stop? Why not create their own failsafe?”

The future appeared in her mind. Everyone on Homeworld, isolated in their own heads, never able to touch their loved ones. Howling into the abyss of loneliness. No more light as the shadows of conquerors fell over everything good, extinguishing joy. Bodies of the ones who could not live without their friends to keep them company in their minds.

She sat down at the table. She needed to catch her breath.

He set down the gold holder, letting it smolder on its own. “Vevi, this month I lost three of my volunteers. You remember them.” The names he listed rang true. “The Dominion raided their hideaway.” Another space station. Nikolai stared at the ground. “They lashed themselves together and jumped through an airlock. Eliezar brought an oxygen mask to help him live a little longer.” His voice had fallen to a murmur. “He endured so his comrades would not die alone.”

Years of work lost. Good work. And good people. “They did the right th—” “ _They panicked_ ,” he snarled, gray eyes seething. “They should have hid away and waited. Help came to drive off the attack and keep the station intact, but they panicked. The capture of your homeworld gave them a new kind of despair. The leak which exposed me and the transport attack have only eroded morale. With Project Eraser’s revival exiling them away from home, they didn’t trust the crew to protect them if the space station was taken. So, they panicked, and it is only by Providence that their bodies were found by the space station’s crew instead of Union forces. Their fear endangered everyone. I cannot allow this to happen again.”

The insanity of his proposition. To prevent enslavement of her own people by her own tools, she had no option but to sacrifice her own work. He stood up and grabbed the holder to take a deliberate pull of all-consuming smoke. “We will develop decoy devices for the volunteers and ensure everyone gets one. Nothing drastic, another type of ruse to let them fake death and fool scanners into showing that all their implants are rendered useless. We have options. My volunteers are creative. They will know what to do.”

“Evidently, not all of them,” she sneered to herself.

A flush of rage, but he looked away to take yet another puff. “I am choosing to ignore that sentiment.” He leaned down, looming over her. “Do not flatter yourself with the idea that I have not spent every waking moment in this metal tube on understanding the consequences of my plan, that I am not in constant correspondence with Ethics or Internal Litigation, or that I do not expect to be re-evaluated the moment this is discovered. I have been running models since my first day and this—” he pointed back to the diagram, “—is the only option I find palatable.”

“It is still wrong and reckless.”

“Then you now understand what my _other_ options were.”

She looked back at the holographic display. “Do your little helpers understand what they have built?”

He groaned softly, rolling his eyes. He’d been caught. “I did not go into details.” A tool appeared in his hand which he used to snip off the burning end of the cigarette.

“I will help you.” She felt the smile come to her face. “But only if you tell them first. And give them the option of having no part.”

He went for the door, shaking his head. “Still trying to bend me to your will, I see.” The doors slid shut behind him.

Finally. As soon as they heard his explanations, they would retreat in horror and want no part of his machinations. Someone on the space station would at last see the person he really was, not this elaborate deception he had built for himself. He should have been re-evaluated years ago to teach him a lesson about what is good and right.

He had knocked her down from eminence, and she was forced to hide her mistakes at conferences with her fellow colleagues in medicine. Sympathy from her telepath friends gave little comfort because he had taken from her the one thing she cared about. Buoyed now by her confidence, she let her mind reach out tendrils to grab up whatever she could find. Time to take an attenuating position; straight back, hands folded on the table, eyes closed.

This would be too perfect.  

She could catch parts of the conversation.

_We assumed that we'd implant the device in you. You didn't make any effort to convince us otherwise._

_It was obvious. Why else would you build the device?_

_Well. We've discussed often if it is right or wrong, what you've asked us to build. We still don't know._

_We know it is a very secretive thing, but we did ask Rabbi Kawaga, no we were careful, she wasn't as helpful as we had hoped. I guess. I must know. Is it the only way? It is a sacrifice, but you. You do want to live, don't you? You are reluctant to give your life, but you are doing it because there is no other way?_

_We saw all his notes. Mr. LeVanne, you're not like the sort of person who I expected to be a secret agent. Sorry, whatever you do for the Consortium. I know it's secretive. Why did you share so many things?_

_I see._

_No reports, just like you asked. We did everything you asked._

_There is truly no other way?_

_Well, why shouldn't we help him? We stayed on this station to protect home. If this is the only way to protect these other people like him, what more is there to discuss? We are alive because someone died protecting our ancestors._

_No other way. You are certain. ...Then, we must._

_But please. Do not abuse our faith._

And then a swirl of something that hurt her head. She had to go back to blocking out everything. Vevi still could not understand what had just happened. They should abhor the idea.

Vevi jumped at the door sliding open. Nikolai returned alone. “They are preparing everything. We have some prototypes ready, but we will need to build the final version. Day or two, and you will perform the install.”

Everything he asked of her went against her culture and character, and yet the temptation of returning to the operating theatre overwhelmed her. “Well, there is nothing more to discuss.”

He leaned down, looming from behind to murmur, “I understand that you are justified in asking me to disclose the truth, but I know you, Vevi. This was not about protocol or what is ethical.” His voice became a cold whisper. “I have been living in this metal tube for over a year, and the crew are the only thing that have made it tolerable. So understand.” Each word bit her ear. “If you endanger what I have, I will re-dedicate my life to destroying yours.”

His breath was on her neck. She nodded.

He withdrew, heading once more for the door. “Oh.” A threat and now suddenly, he wanted to sound casual. “The gift from Deforest.” He badly hid his hunger. “You never mentioned when I could expect to acquire it.”

She was tired of him. “When you recover from surgery.”

++

Collaborating was different this time. They fell into some of the old patterns, but they also constantly sized up each other like retired fighting masters uncertain if the other could be beaten. It was a cautious, brittle peace, further strained by Nikolai’s need to let on nothing of his past. Both Dr. Lazarus and Lt. Moses spoke of the high praise he had given Vevi before she arrived. They truly had no idea. But in the end, they had their final product.

Forty-eight hours in the operating theatre. Her longest procedure yet. Her most difficult, delicate procedure ever. Her hands remembered everything, and her mind found the meditative trance-state she fell into during these long stretches. True clarity of purpose. In this instance of altered consciousness where she saw every possibility and time became slower, her mind accessed the Eye of Destiny and it became so obvious that her life had led to this moment. Every scar and guideline she had laid down years ago were for this purpose. She traced the past as she worked. She corrected the mistakes of her assistants before they happened because time was folding over to show her their consequences. Dr. Lazarus and Lt. Moses could only work twelve hours at a time. They could not achieve transcendence.

Vevi let the others rest while she watched over their patient to awake. She could not sleep before then. Another four hours before his eyes fluttered opened. She didn’t stay to greet him, stumbling away and back to her quarters.

Her day of sleep passed too quickly.

An early morning. Vevi made her way to the medical labs just before watch-change, allowing her to avoid much of the crew. Nikolai had staked out an empty alcove of the space to make his office with small desk, chair, a basic workstation, and some shelves for personal affects. He was leaning on the desk when she arrived, the compact mirror from his field kit in one hand while he scowled with worry at his freshly-shaved head, moving the mirror constantly while his other hand obsessively brushed against new scars, old scars, and tiny hairs. Her mind retrieved the image of his younger self, that first surgery when he was still so earnest and green, and overlay it onto the scarred man before her.

“Vevi, is there something wrong?”

She waved away the memory. “I did not mean to stare. Just…remembering.”

He turned back to mirror, vainly preening. “I forgot my head felt like steel wool and itched so much after surgery.”

“I see you recovered well.” Better than she had expected. The new unit from Dr. Lazarus and Lt. Moses had done more than she originally predicted. Just hours before, he had been inside-out on her operating table. “Do you feel any different?”

She caught his furrowed brow in the mirror. “No. I expected I would, but no.”

“Then I believe we can consider this a success.” There would be no way to test how the hardware fares under stress in vivo, but he chose that risk. “I did make some minor adjustments for your own health such as a longer delay if a doctor needs to stop your heart. I also added the time allotment to your medical history so a doctor can help you.”

He set down the mirror to finally meet her gaze only to immediately look away. “Thank you.” With a resolute nod, he added, “I am in your debt for this. You did excellent work.”

They didn’t know how to behave toward each other with nothing to fight about. The ambience sounds of the space station filled the air. Now she understood what made Nikolai so peevish from living here.

The data sticks. Vevi remembered them stashed in a small secretive drawer in the labs. After retrieving them, she handed off the first one. “As promised. Here is everything you need to help your subordinates build the decoy devices. They may not be able to create them right away, but this will help them start. And I understand this station receives plenty of wreckage that you can salvage for your own purposes.” Such as shipping them materials and parts.

He put the first one in his inner vest pocket as he reached for the other. “Any thoughts on how we should engineer the leak?”

Her world went black as she pulled the other data stick close to her breast. “…What?”

Nikolai’s outstretched hand was the only thing that mattered. “The leak. The plan won’t work unless our allies and enemies know that we have this device.”

This was not what they discussed.

The outstretched hand gestured impatiently. “Vevi, you are stalling. Hand me your data.”

She saw him, but it was the younger him insolently making demands of her. When he reached again, she dodged in a single motion. “No.”

He reached yet again, trying to anticipate her move. “Doctor,” he demanded, “it is in your best interest to hand me the data.”

“No.”

“I am the project lead, giving me the final word on any matters in data handling.”

“You are one of two. Your counterpart, Deforest, is required to also approve any decisions made on data handling.”

He stiffened and recoiled, retreating behind his desk. “There is no need to involve him on this.”

As she suspected. Deforest was never meant to know. “We are leaking nothing. You clearly never thought through the consequences.”

Nikolai growled, “I ran every model—”

Enough. “I saw the results and you are missing the most important part.” She kept her distance. “You never considered what could happen in our own government.” If he let her keep talking, she had an opening. “You are not aware of what they are saying about you as part of Project Oblivion.”

He scoffed and once again outstretched his impatient hand for the data stick. “I get reports. Chasing down every detail is a distraction. Now, give me—” “You do not _read_ what they are saying about you, Nikolai. It is getting worse.” She pushed away his hand. “I have moved to different parts of the city six times. They find where I live, they stand outside all day and night until for some reason they leave while I hide at the office, and then I must break into my own home to pack and run away.”

The news gave him pause. “Oh. I. I did not know.”

"Of course not. There is very little we can send through messages." She tightened her grip on the data stick. Unable to read him, she couldn't tell his next move. She must prepare for the worst. "If you leak what we have done, no one can control the harm it will cause." He didn't lashed out. She grew bolder. "Your mind has been disconnected from the Tree of Thought for a very long time, and now you can never rejoin it."

"That means very little."

"If you believe that, then you cannot understand your place and what you touch."

That impatient hand would not relent but stopped short of grabbing her arm, palm up with a finger curled to beckon her. "Vevi, I realize that you still have your objections to what we have done, and I understand that you want to protect your own reputation, but I can control the outcome. I can decide what people know."

"No, it is not about that--" "Vevi, I am tired of your excuses--" "--This is not an excuse--" "--and I chose to continue the project--" "It is not about the project--" "--after everything you did to me--" "--Listen to me--" "--because I was proud--" "--Then listen--" "--And--" "Just shut up for a moment--"

The extended palm became a fist. "Never say to me. Never." The fist relaxed. "Now. Give me the data."

Vevi stepped back. "No." She wouldn't wait for more veiled threats and cajoling. "I remember why you were brought to me."

"Yes, the Thought Infractions. Vevi. Stop stalling and give me the data."

"And! And your hours. You logged too many hours for each assignment, either to harass our Ethics liaison or fight with Field Litigation. Your brain could not keep a single thought to itself! The telepaths in the department complained because simply walking past you exhausted them! But I know the truth of what you did." A crescendo of courage pushed her toward him. "I pulled it from your mind as you signed the paperwork. Those hours were to delay each elimination and argue for another way."

The expression on his face mirrored the one she remembered during electroshock testing. His wound was her opening. "Your reputation for hysterics? It was because no one in the department ever questioned decisions from Ethics before. Some people are threats to stability, and we accepted that they must be removed. But _you_! Barging into offices, quoting three essays you read the night before--no one acted that way! Ethicist Alda Xun, you remember? When you locked the door on a conference room and the two of you stayed until morning? Your assignment merely _offered_ elimination as an option, not the course of action. And yet, you argued that Ethics should not have provided the option at all."

Another expression she remembered: the one he wore after waterboarding. "I never told anyone.” He shook his head to gain clarity, she assumed. “Why would you remind me of this?”

“So you start listening to me when I say that Alda Xun is speaking out on your behalf. She is not doing the same for Deforest or me or any of us in the department. But, oh, she does it for _you_.”

At last, the hand retreated. “Why?”

“Because,” she began with sigh, “because you are a great many frustrating things, but you are also righteous.” She wouldn’t flatter him further. “What would she think if she learned that you built this device, demanded I implant it, discuss it with no one, and then announce its existence to everyone except our own government without asking permission or oversight for how to control the consequences?”

Vevi knew the only proper way this ended. “I abided by your plan because I saw it was the only way to protect both our work and other people. But it is also reprehensible to create this device. I will be far from the only one who holds this belief. If someone in Project Oblivion knows it is possible to create, what is to stop them from redoubling their efforts to find and use us?

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

The only proper solution pained her. This weapon of mass enslavement was her masterpiece. A magnum opus like the Arches to the Unknowable Goddess on Homeworld. “You cannot have the data. And neither can I. No one can.”

Nikolai kept a proper distance as he walked past her, gesturing for her to follow.

They came to the lab’s incinerator. He turned away, head bowed. He was giving her a moment to grieve. Everything that transpired between them, and yet he found it in himself to exercise some civility, even compassion, toward her.

She should act quickly before she changed her mind. With a kiss farewell on the data stick, she opened the hatch and tossed it in.

What was she thinking?! She still had a few seconds to grab it back before the incinerator destroyed it. She could snake her hand into the still open hatch.

A strong, tight grip on her wrist stopped her hand. Nikolai. When had he gotten so strong? The hatch was closed. Melodic beeping to indicate it was active. All evidence of her masterpiece. Gone. She couldn’t help rubbing her wrist when he let go. Worse than a vise.

She didn’t want to dwell on this. “Do you think your admirers will take umbrage at your sudden change in style?”

“No, Lt. Moses gave me a temporary hologram until my hair returns. She did fine work with it too, behaves as if it were my own.”

A nagging thought came out of her mouth before she could reconsider. “Why would Deforest send you that gift you so desperately want? Why do you want it?”

He furrowed his brow. “What does it matter to you?”

“Well, why need it at all?” She gestured around. “I can name three crewmembers available now who would gladly cater to your needs.” In a moment of weakness, she had considered doing the same for him, not out of adoration but desperation to gain back what he had taken. “What could possibly stop you from asking? They love you so much already.”

To her surprise, Nikolai took the question seriously. He leaned an elbow on the top of the incinerator, resting his head on his arm and staring off in contemplation. “Well,” he began, visibly choosing his words, “I was told that I was a very selfish lover, the few encounters I had early in my life were not what I had hoped, and then once the project started, I found more pl—” An anguished smile stopped him. “Oh, Vevi.” His voice became soft and hollow. “You are still in my head….” The bland polite mask again, but it seemed sadder this time.

Seven years and he still couldn’t let go. Better to stop him from dwelling on it. “Do you intend to tell your volunteers?”

He headed back to his office with her in tow. “Yes. They deserve to know.”

“They will object. They may choose to leave.”

“If that is their decision, then you will remove all of their hardware as part of their discharge from the project.”

The casual suggestion stunned her. “Do…am I allowed to perform surgeries again?”

A pause. “Yes. You are the only person I trust to do it. Removals are a new phase of the project, and you are the only candidate I want to consider for leading it.”

She felt herself blushing. “Do you really trust me again?”

“Yes. I suppose I do.”

Everything in her body compelled her to ask. “Does that mean you finally forgive me?”

He cast down his eyes as he drew the partition to close off his office from the rest of the lab. “It is good to see you, Vevi.”


	9. Chapter 9

_One had fallen asleep, one kept fidgeting to stay awake, and the other two were on the verge of drifting off. The fidgety one kept glancing down at their bowls with a deeply furrowed brow._

_“You…you mentioned…he brought us here. He took on a special mission of some kind.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Why?”_

_“It is something that very few are allowed to know.”_

_\----------_

Midnight. Nikolai strode down the comforting path from his home to the office through the warm darkness, admiring the familiar acquaintances of his neighborhood who were still in the throes of revelry to celebrate Duanwu. He hadn’t acknowledged the aching absence he felt in the space station and its mother city, Shahrazad Al-Shahib, until he came back. The skyline created its own sea of stars, and the lights of the Anshun Bridge created another arm of the Milky Way in the Jin River; people on the bridge called down to the boats which drifted underneath, often for no other reason than a friendly greeting. The river had been his quiet place in those early days of his career. The river never judged him.

The pseudo-historical high-rise buildings of the Consortium’s campus came into view, the glorious walled gardens of each building clustered together like ducks on a pond, creating a labyrinth of foliage and pavilions. Colorful lanterns dotted the gardens as part of the year-round aesthetic to ensure calming light when enjoying the gardens at night.

The architects thoughtfully placed the gardens such that one must walk through them to get to the building. But stepping through the full-moon arch, he took the opposing path to the principal pavilion where Deforest asked to meet him. Amid the cacophony of fragrances which plied for his attention, one scent swiftly cut through to lead the way: freshly-brewed coffee.

Color-changing lanterns crowded around the awning of the pavilion. Deforest called a greeting only to cut himself off with a curse and a clatter. Nikolai found him gently sucking at a cut on his thumb; the offending knife lay on a table next to a cutting board with a mango. “You should have asked me to bring something,” he chuckled, picking up where his friend left off. Naked tables dotted the pavilion with various crates underneath.

“You needed the rest after last night.” The whiffing sound of a tablecloth unfurling. “I have _never_ seen you eat or drink that much.”

He felt the heat of a blush. “I was not _so_ indulgent….”

“Ha! Yi and Philia helped me walk you to the guestroom because you insisted on crawling.” Nikolai recalled a vague memory of Deforest’s sisters taking him in their arms at the end of the night. “You were in rare form.” Chatting as they worked, he was reminded of how much effort he required for every interaction on the Maryam regardless of how much he enjoyed his time with its crew; the time away gave him new appreciation for the people knew all the ugliness of his flaws.

Neither had learned much about the aesthetics of culinary presentation but knowing enough about color theory helped enough to where unearned confidence would make up for the rest. “Are you sure this is enough food?” An entire table was laden with the triangular bamboo-leaf rice dumplings he only saw during the festival, but they expected a small army of hungry travelers and their anxiously awaiting families.

“No,” Deforest grunted as he set down a heavy crate of fruit; one table already filled with fruit and he still had to arrange more on a second one. “That was why I let you rest.” They had planned for weeks, closely coordinating when they could finally recall their project team back home from their exile. “I told everyone to meet us in our building’s auditorium.” The only sensible path there led straight through their pavilion. Nikolai smirked to himself. They deserved a proper welcome home.

It was a still an hour or two before anyone would arrive when they set everything out, so they folded the tablecloths over the food to take a break. “I heard everyone came home safe,” said Deforest as he poured two cups for them. “Well…” he started with a sad frown. He didn’t want to finish the thought.

The coffee had stayed warmed. “I still have my meeting with Eliezar, Lan, and Mira blocked on my schedule. I cannot bring myself to remove it, not yet.” Fireflies danced around the pavilion. They stood on the adjacent bridge, overlooking the pond which formed the aesthetic center of the garden.

“I could never have predicted that they or any of the volunteers would do that. I wish I had known.”

Nikolai could. Anything to protect the other project members. Anything to make sure his body would be found by the right people, not their allies or enemies. “They made the right choice. It was not the best choice, but it was the right choice.”

“No. No, absolutely not. No, no, they put all of us in danger.”

“Death is often the right choice when there is a chance of capture.”

Deforest’s tone grew acrid. “Of course _you_ think that. I thought—” He interrupted himself to take a sip of coffee. “I should expect these things of you.”

He had wanted to avoid this, part of why he over-indulged the night before. Whatever he could do to make the night pleasant so they could forget the failsafe. He spoke softly. “I take it you are still angry about the device.”

“Yes!” He slammed his fist on the railing. “I am!” Huffing, he took another sip. “It does not matter, you already went and did it and, and, and I just want to enjoy this and you coming home.” He covered his face.

Nikolai would wait. He had to.

“I. I need more time, Little Brother. I know I have no choice but to trust your judgment. But. This one. I already told you.”

As soon as Vevi returned and released her report, Deforest risked crossing into one of the theatres of war to reach the Maryam and ream him in his makeshift office. Nikolai knew what he wanted hear. He would never say it: he didn’t regret the decision. Since the surgery, he felt the way he used to when he was twenty-five. “I do not know what I can say to make you less angry at me.”

“Neither can I, so say nothing.”

A bird expertly caught one of the fireflies in mid-air. A sudden, slapping splash at the surface of the pond from the fish. A few stray flowers fell from the trees into the water.

He pulled the case from his inner vest pocket. “I promise, only one. I want one before everyone arrives.” When he lit the end in the golden holder, he tried vainly to make a smoke ring.

Deforest perked up, sniffing the air. “This is nothing like your other cigarettes. Oh, what is this? I smell—Autumn? No, but it is nice. What is it?”

Nikolai inhaled deeply, letting out a great plume of smoke over the water. “I adjusted the composition to instead use a blend of herbs such a mullein, lobelia, maple leaves, I think cedar, a blend of many different things including tobacco. The Maryam’s botanist advised me.” Years of complaints had compelled him to dig in his heels further about the matter; Botanist Shafir’s gentler approach convinced him to do something about the nuisance smell.

“May I….?”

He chuckled as he passed the holder. “Of course. But do not make a hobby of it.” The new moon was still high. Birds had begun their territorial songs.

One puff and Deforest’s knees weakened. He clung to the railing for the support.

He plucked back the holder and offered his elbow. Strange. Never did that to him. Deforest mustered a “That was enough for me” narrowly avoided a coffee spill, and slowly paced to get back his balance.

A cigarette, a friend, and a new moon. If only this moment could last longer.

Nikolai tapped the ash into the ash-compartment of his cigarette case. “I think about what Tusark said to me on forgiveness.”

Deforest had grabbed a piece of fruit to go with his coffee. “I am certain he has a lot to say on it.”

“He described humans' approach as arithmetic, and we treat it like an equation. We take the many facets and consequences of a harmful act and try to quantify it into a single numeric value--he clarified that we do not assign actual number values to actions, but we attempt nonetheless. If we can quantify the harm, then we can determine the appropriate restitution. We balance the equation. To do this, one must accept the restitution offered. This is what we consider forgiveness--acceptance of restitution offered. Rejecting what is offered leaves the equation unbalanced, and an unbalanced equation is considered a failure by both parties to reconcile and--he used the phrase 'step together.'

“I think I understand what he means. Share space within society. When we apply the equation to an act, we set the precedent that restitution of an equal value is possible and can be offered. If restitution can be offered, then ultimately the act is acceptable with our moral standards because it can and should be forgiven.

“But there are some acts such as the harm cannot be quantified. They defy moral standards. The nature of these acts is such that if we attempt to apply the equation, then we corrode our own framework. There are some acts for which restitution can never be offered, and to forgive--accept whatever restitution is offered--is an immoral act in and of itself. We are now left with a new challenge: we cannot forgive the action, so we must find a different response.” He sipped the smoke of his cigarette. “I thought about this often over the past few months.”

Deforest sighed deeply at the last sips of his coffee. “Any specific reason?”

He shrugged. “Vevi, Project Eraser.” He hesitated. “What I did. You know I cannot ask you.”

“If I forgive you?”

The words stung. “As I said. I cannot ask you.”

“I. I think I can. Eventually. Like you did…Well, you never said if you forgave her.”

The cigarette had smoldered down to the holder. “At this point, does it matter?” He pulled out the parts of the holder to tap the remains into the ash-compartment. “I punished her for long enough.  I trust her again.”

Deforest scoffed. “Alright then. Keep your secrets.”

“Keeping secrets is what we do.” From his other vest pocket, he pulled an atomizer. “And you have far more than I.” He lightly spritzed his hair, neck, and shirt to minimize the smell of smoke to replace with the scent of jasmine.

“More than you know.” Stars and the moon faded from the sky, yielding before the sun appeared. The others would arrive soon. “You remember our rule? No tears.”

Nikolai smiled slyly as he straightened himself. “Fair, fair.” He had wept with joy the moment he set foot back in Chengdu where the Chiung family greeted him as if it had been decades.

“I am serious. They will need it. We have to let them.”

“I still remember how to be an elder brother.”

“ _Nikolai?! DEFORST?”_

On the other side of the bridge were the first three former exiles. The petite Zhang sprinted across with Hala and Bari in tow, bounding up to grab Deforest in an embrace so forceful and tight he let out an audible gasp. “I thought you might be dead.” They had imposed their rule for good reason: Nikolai watched his mentor and supervisor discretely dab at his eyes with the cuff of his shirt and he gripped their subordinate. Zhang’s tears flowed freely.

She let go abruptly to wipe her face with her shirt. “I, ooya, oh my. I was just so happy.” To Nikolai, she offered her hand; early on, his subordinates had picked up on the boundaries concerning his body. “It is good to see you.”

Taking her hand, he gently pulled Zhang a little closer and presented an open arm.

Zhang took to the invitation, and Nikolai breathed deep to strengthen his resolve. He wanted to the break the dam. He had lived through Hell so that when they opened the program to juniors, they would not suffer. He magnified the original leak to eat away at his own anonymity so no one would notice the others in the program. Every new piece of hardware, every change, every discomfort—he subjected himself before he allowed anyone to subject his volunteers. He would have fought to the death for each and every one of them. And to hold one of his volunteers now, he wanted them to feel soft and safe around him. Thus, they could never know how broken he had once been. They were one of his last thoughts as he waited for death on the transport: through them, he had found ways to heal.

As soon as she let go, he grabbed Deforest’s shoulder to walk across the bridge. The first three guests were distracted by the sumptuous feast they had set out. “I almost broke,” he gasped, frantically checking his appearance to keep his face dry.

“You did well.” Deforest had finished composing himself.

“Will the other arrivals be easier to bear?”

His gaze fixed on the pavilion. “No.”

Deforest was right, at least at first. Each greeting, each big wet stain on his shoulder left him wrung out and worn; yet, as soon as he saw another one of these people that he led through the darkness of the past two years, euphoria took over. By midmorning, the crowd spilled across the bridge to the pavilion. New people were greeted with a raucous unified cheer which only grew louder with each arrival.

During a lull, one of his volunteers found him while he stood on the bridge for some relief and watch the water. Lyras, one of the telepaths and among the first cohort. She touched his shoulder, her species’ equivalent to a heartfelt embrace. “You are well. That is important to me.”

She surprised him, and he returned the gesture. “I did not expect you to stay.”

“It is best for me to see my colleagues. All of us were apart for longer than we have before. I want to learn from their experiences.”

He didn’t expect to feel awkward around her. “I approved your resignation before leaving the space station. Meet with Dr. Chiaaso today to schedule your final exams and implant-removal surgeries and complete your resignation before the end of this month.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He expected at least one to make this choice. On impulse, he reached a hand up to touch the newest scar at the base of his head. “Has anyone else expressed interest in leaving?”

“I am not aware of any other volunteers coming to my decision.”

“Hm. Well, I would like to refer other volunteers to you if they express interest in resignation.”

Lyras furrowed her brow. “I do not understand. Do you not wish them to stay in the program?”

“I do. But as their superior, there is undue influence. It is wrong to keep any of you against your will, even through undue influence.”

She visibly contemplated his words and nodded in agreement. “This is unexpected wisdom. I admire this decision on your part.” Back in the pond, a turtle’s head broke the surface for a breath. “I am curious about your decision. I do not understand what compelled you.”

She deserved an answer. “I will answer you, but not here. With me.” He gestured for her to follow.

Secrets were the irresistible nectar of all Consortium analysts; Lyras was no exception. Even senior analysts like himself could succumb to the seduction of forbidden knowledge. Lyras walked backwards behind him, a Consortium habit, to check for any wandering, inquisitive eyes. They rounded the pond on the winding path through the dense shade to find stone benches near the stands of tall bamboo. Lyras regarded him with an intense gaze.

“I think of myself as the devices in my flesh. This body can be broken down into parts—organs, fluids, different kinds of tissues and cells. I did not imagine myself as a whole person. And my focus during the project has been on the devices we gave all of you. Any knowledge we have can be gained in other ways. We are like boxes, and the devices are our contents.

“I weighed my decision during the many months I developed this device I have now. I wanted a way to protect the devices. I received news of Eliezar, Lan, and Mira’s deaths from a Starfleet doctor asking to perform an autopsy. My first thought was about the devices in their bodies. I did not grieve or even give much consideration to the loss.”

Lyras did not appear to blink. “This is unusual information. You appear extremely concerned about our personhood.”

He needed to edit himself. “I am. Yes, this is true. I—” No, that was not appropriate. “I have a duty to lead and protect you. But it was days later that grief came, both due to the loss and my own failings as I no longer thought of myself as a person but an object. In training you, I also instructed you to let your hardware control your decisions. I know Eliezar made the choice. I failed by teaching him that such a choice should be considered, that his life was less valuable than his hardware.”

“You told us the truth. If we are captured and discovered, it is expected that we will be killed and our remains will be stripped of the devices. This is logical given the circumstances of the project and what is currently known publicly. I do not understand the flaw.”

Some turtles were sunning themselves on the pond’s shoreline nearby. “I had to create this terrible device because it was the only way I could take away that possibility. I cannot ask you to take on the same task, so I created decoys. Anyone who wants a true failsafe will have to invent it themselves. I can never suggest the same course of action. It is a personal decision.”

“I still do not understand.”

He wanted to feel whole again. He wanted to take back control of his life. The transport incident would have gone very differently. Condemning himself to an inevitable early death gave him immense power because now he decided when and where he would die, not the hardware. “Do you recall a time when your parents did something to which you strongly objected? Yes? Do you remember a time when the same incident revealed itself to be enormously beneficial, but you could not understand this at the time of your objection?”

Lyras wore the shadow of a frown before finally answering, “Yes.”

He never wanted children, but he was starting to understand the absence of that particular kind of loss. “Then I hope you will come to understand this in a similar way.”

She looked down, deep furrows returning to her brow. “I am beginning to understand. I appreciate your respect for my decision, sir.”

To lay down his life for every one of his volunteers and subordinates would be an honor. “Do not hesitate to ask me for anything. You are still welcome to any gathering. Do not believe that you should cut yourself off from the other project members. I am only disappointed in myself that I am the reason you choose to resign.”

Lyras stood up as she was satisfied with the explanation, regardless of whether or not Nikolai was done speaking. “This has been enlightening. I have learned a great deal from you, and I think it is only logical that I continue to learn from you. I simply cannot learn more so long as I am part of the project.”

He gestured back to the path. “Shall we?”

They returned to new arrivals. Nearly midday. A new wave would arrive. Under the shade of the pavilion, he surveyed the crowd—no need to run yet for more food as the volunteers had taken on the task while obviously working to keep this fact from their host. Deforest was on the far end talking to Tusark. Mol and their whole social group were nearby.

Nikolai realized how sad he had been for so many years.

It wasn’t joy or euphoria.

This was what it felt like to be content with one’s life.

His gaze caught the eyes of Vevi. He felt at peace.

They nodded to each other. No words were needed.

Folding his hands behind his back, he now thought about the future and found he couldn’t predict even what tomorrow would bring him. For once, he found the prospect exciting.

Something was pressed into his hands. A small envelope.

By second-nature, he maintained his gaze facing forward but tightened his grip on the envelope. Only after he counted to thirty did he examine what he had received. A red envelope smaller than his palm said _MEETING NOW. CONFERECE ROOM REN._

Walking to a corner of the pavilion which hung over the pond, he pulled out his lighter. The envelope burned evenly, and he tossed the smoldering remains into the water.


	10. Chapter 10

The conference room lay at the end of a carpeted hallway with large windows overlooking a grassy park situated between the various gardens. This was one of the larger conference rooms used for hosting and included a reception space. Nikolai and Deforest found a few covered tables with two of their colleagues, Siba and Joshi, twisting open or uncorking bottles. Their outfits indicated that they hadn’t planned on coming to work that day, and their disgruntled murmurs underscored this fact.

Siba walked over decisively to push a glass of wine into Nikolai’s hands. “You will need this,” she said with a sour face, her sandals slapping as she went back to the tables.

“Well, I think you are overestimating—”

“They invited us to a meeting with Starfleet.”

Well that changes everything. “Ah.” He passed off the glass to Deforest. “Then, a vodka tonic, please.”

Joshi scoffed. “I forgot you are an absolute madman, Nikolai.” He repeated under his breath “vodka tonic” and groused to himself about the drink choice.

Mid-sip, Siba suddenly blurted out, “Oh! Did any of your people ever go to the House of Holes? Wait, all of you were off-world during the war. None of them would have visited during that time.”

Nikolai wanted that drink now and not a moment later. Deforest answered for him. “What about it?”

She gasped as her hand seemed to clutch imaginary pearls. “Oh my! Well there were a few complaints about it starting three years ago, but nothing the Consortium could do anything about. Other agencies handle that, don’t know them. A friend of mine in Legal says that they coordinated the personnel who followed up with the proprietors, but they found nothing wrong. And then two weeks later, the place _disappears_. All the units, all the proprietors, even the fixtures and equipment! Their section of their complex was an empty shell.”

As soon as he got his drink, Nikolai downed it in one gulp before asking, “Did anyone know?”

“No! Their patrons were terribly upset, and I can imagine! No hint as to why, what happened, or where they went. Someone opened an investigation because the timing is not a coincidence, but I do not expect anything to come of it. But it’s the strangest thing, isn’t it?”

“Very strange.” He bypassed Joshi to mix another serving of the same cocktail. Joshi steadied his vodka hand and pulled the bottle away with a look somewhere between quiet judgment and concern; then, with some compassion, Joshi added a final splash into the glass and grated in some zest from a Hand of Buddha.

Before he could take a sip, Deforest roughly grabbed him to meet someone. “Patime, you remember me talking about my friend and protégé, Nikolai?” Somehow, his glass had jumped to Deforest’s hand.

Patime, like the other people arriving quickly, wore the kind of colorful, multi-patterned outfit reserved for a party. “Oh, oh my,” she said in a polite tone that gave him no comfort. “I did not realize that you two were invited as well.”

“We shall talk afterwards,” and he whisked the two of them to a vacant part of the reception area. Handing back the glass, he said in a low voice, “You cannot have a third one.”

Nikolai thought they were well past this behavior. “Deforest, enough—” “I need you to trust me. Follow my hand.” Three unassuming colleagues. “You have never met them because they are department heads. Patime? I report to her.” He walked them closer to eavesdrop on conversation. “Listen.”

_“—Well, you know how project managers are. Mine are still jumpy—”_

_“—I still have to call the families of a few analysts—”_

_“—How much paperwork do you think we should complete for this meeting—”_

Nikolai turned to his friend, feeling a tightness in his chest. “They are all department heads.”

“Yes. Except us.”

“And Siba and Joshi.”

He leaned in. “They are administrators. You know the office they are in, don’t you?”

“Philia.” His collar felt hot. “Philia is here, here in the building. She.” He could feel a panicky stream of words coming on, and Deforest pressed a finger to his lips to silence him.

“They are well above our station, and whatever the reason, this meeting concerns great and terrible knowledge. I need you at your best. Write down questions for me to ask; as your superior, I can do that to help us both. If you are addressed directly, speak to what you know and interpret the requests narrowly. We have been invited because we are considered appropriate for the meeting.”

Nikolai nodded as his head swiveled briefly to scope the room with new eyes.

“Finish your drink now. I am giving you watered-down wine afterward.”

“It seems I should do without altogether.”

“No! No. Every one of the department heads will walk in with something in their hand. You need to do the same in solidarity. A meeting with these people and _Philia_ concerns more than taunting our Starfleet counterparts.”

Reluctantly, Nikolai swallowed the cocktail as quick as he could manage without a chance to enjoy the added zest.

“Good. Talk to Patime. Let her introduce you to others.” He clutched his shoulders gently. “I am confident in you. And so is the Consortium. Now go.”

Setting the empty glass on one of the covered tables, Nikolai waded back into the crowd.  He ventured back to Patime who handed him yet another thing for him to drink. This would be a quite a trial. “Since you are here and it is almost time for reviews, I can convey this to you directly instead of through Deforest.”

“Yes, ma’am?” Of course she knew exactly who he was and what he had been doing all these years.

“Excellent work on the newest device; I admire the creativity and its purpose. Your dedication to your volunteers is without equal. Still, my deep sympathy for the loss during the war.” Her dark eyes gleamed keenly. “You and Deforest have grown a great deal since joining the department, and I have always kept the two of you together because you have been integral to each other’s growth.”

He realized the near-impossibility of what he had achieved: a secret successfully kept by over one hundred people. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You are part of Deforest’s legacy, and you are at a time in your career that you should think carefully about what your own legacy will look like. The Consortium is not a prison and you are not expected to spend your life in it.”

Alas, without Deforest, Nikolai had no one with which to share the acute irony of her words. “Yes, ma’am.”

A sly simper. “I think I will introduce you to my peers. They will enjoy you.”

A time which should stand out in his mind and yield some excellent stories would years later fall into the murkiness of faded memory. Only one or two moments piqued his interest, both of them involving a telepath who didn’t notice him and becoming very ruffled by the fact; even these incidents registered as blips as he poured his energy into absorbing every iota of information he could glean to understand why he had been summoned. The trouble with Consortium department heads is that they were always playing a strategy game. The hard part is that the game itself constantly shifted, and each of them played their own rules. The ever-present questions surrounded what _exactly_ he had done in his department and would his famous program open itself to other departments. He knew how to deflect the scrutiny. They were also wondering about his presence. Whenever he finished one glass, a fresh and full new one appeared in his hand.

Deforest intercepted him as he came from the lavatory. “Patime likes you.” Another glass. The pain of his bladder contracting lingered.

“Well.” Nikolai found himself leaning on the other and unable to regulate his grip. “You have to help me,” he grunted, “because I am a bit drunk.”

“No! Damnit!” He pushed them back into the lavatory’s hallway. “How?”

“What was I to do? Refuse anything offered?”

“Yes!” he whisper-shouted. “It was a test! They are _baffled_ that either of us are here and they are trying to dissect you! And before you ask, I have been doing reconnaissance.” Eavesdropping. As Nikolai reached for his cigarette case, Deforest grabbed his wrist. “Not here!”

He jerked out of his grip. “Keep watch, I need one,” he spat back. “Nothing wrong. I am a little drunk and I have been awake since midnight. I just need one.”

They continued to bicker over the one and only cigarette he very much needed until they noticed a great deal of movement. The conference doors had opened. Deforest snatched the cigarette case before Nikolai could get his way and pushed it quickly down his underwear, leaving no opportunity to get it back without a fight.

“Let’s go.” Deforest roughly took him.

They hurried to catch the others. “The only reason I have not ripped your trousers off is because we have somewhere to be.”

Conference Room Ren was a fortunate choice; in most meetings, Nikolai did everything he could to stand as the height of the furniture left him constantly knocking his knees against tables when sitting down in the unlikely event he could even tolerate the chairs in the first place. Here, the room was arranged like a tiny indoor amphitheater in the same style as diplomatic conventions, and thus he could sit comfortably and not draw any attention to himself. The wall of floor-to-ceiling windows let sunlight drench much of the room, giving no need for help from the overhead fixtures.

At their seats, the hosts had thankfully set out glasses and pitchers of water. Nikolai nursed his glass of juice while Deforest poured water for them both. Between intoxication and weariness, he’d be lucky to not leave the meeting on his hands and knees.

A few uniformed Starfleet officers in the round created by their tables. And then, Philia Wallendo. The first thing that struck him was her impeccable poise. She was a dark and heavy woman who moved with a dancer’s fluidity. The only person among them dressed for work instead of leisure during the holiday. If ever Nikolai could fall in love with someone, he believed it would be with one such as this. That he gave himself instead to wires and coolant systems was perhaps for the best.

It took a few minutes for the rest of them to finally settle in and fall silent. Philia spoke, smooth and calm, “I want to first thank all of you for coming to this meeting prompt and prepared.” The department heads slid open the tables where they seated to pull out tablets. Were they supposed to prepare something? Nikolai quickly finish his juice to tamp down his anxiety. Even as Deforest did their same at their table, he had nothing. He pulled the pen and notepad from an inner vest pocket. “We must begin right away.” She yielded the floor to the two officers, Chief and Deputy Chief of Starfleet Intelligence. This was not good.

The shades came down and the holographic display in the middle of the round turned on to show its idle screen. Then a project name came up. _PROJECT ALPHA BETA_

“Goddamnit,” snarled one of the department heads, and the rest added their own loud complaints. Project Oblivion, Eraser, Whitewash—didn’t matter. _The_ project. The reason for the past two years of his life. He looked to Deforest for reassurance amid the din, but his dear friend was pale and silent.

Philia called over them. “Enough, enough.” Without a hint of irritation, she still commanded the room. “We will conduct this meeting according to standard Consortium procedure.”

The Chief took back the floor. “I would like to start by apologizing for, hm, any inconvenience caused by the operation you have code-named Project Alpha Beta—”

Requisitions and Management raised a hand to sneer, “Chief, with all possible respect that you deserve, is that the extent of your apology to us?”

“Well, mistakes were made—”

Data Security leapt in. “By _your_ people!”

“We understand that this war exacerbated some tensions—”

“Oh no,” said Risk Management, “ _This_ belongs to _you_. We did everything we could to mitigate the utter _nonsense_ that Project Alpha Beta passed off as operations. Tell me, did it even occur to you what kind of risks you were creating for _ev-ver-ry-one?”_

The Deputy jumped in. “That’s enough out of you, churlish silkworms!” she barked to little effect as more department heads piled on their scathing words.

Amid the cacophony, Nikolai took the opportunity to lean over and whisper, “Is this typical?”

“You remember when we worked on the treaty with the Union and I told you about the final conference call before they released the language of the text? This is much worse.” Deforest was also worse; he deflected now in ways he had stopped doing in their relationship years ago.

Only after another five minutes of chaos did Philia come back to bring order. “The Consortium has aired its concerns on Project Alpha Beta that it was not given the opportunity to voice before the project’s launch. Please, continue.”

The Chief cleared his throat. “Thank you.” A report from public media appeared. “Sec—Project Alpha Beta has undermined public confidence—“ he cut off another objection “—to say nothing of the wider intelligence community shared by us, our allies, and other neutral parties. This.” Humility came to the Chief’s demeanor. “This was a mistake. And it will take a very long time to correct.”

Quality took a measured tone to belie cutting words. “We are concerned about unintended consequences. I am confident in my assessment that none of us have yet fully understood the damage for which you are responsible. I can only speak to my department where members of Project Alpha Beta chose to use my subordinates’ personal tragedies to further their goals.”

“Now, allow me to explain—"

“There is nothing to explain. These lives were not meant to be sacrificed, and yet your people did this.” Turning to the room, Quality then asked, “By a show of hands, my dear colleagues, please indicate if you have lost personnel as a direct consequence of Project Alpha Beta.” Every hand went up. “Let it be noted that the two people who have abstained are not of our station and instead belong to the department of Computational Field Analytics.”

The Chief’s face was tight with restraint. “I consider myself full accountable for everything that occurred under Project Alpha Beta and I can assure you that the project has since ended.”

Philia spoke up before another wave of shouting. “That is the purpose of this meeting. Project Alpha Beta has ended. The Chief approached me about ways to mend the rifts created.”

Liaisons and Communications spoke up. “I must voice the truth. The work of Project Alpha Beta opened wounds which never healed and created new ones. The Council is preparing their own inquiries. It is a matter of time before all of us are called to answer.”

Personnel Resources, on the other hand, was much more confrontational. “This is about the unconquerable worlds, yes?” A baleful eye turned back to the Chief. “Homeworld was among them.” Vevi’s homeworld.

The Chief stiffened. “I cannot give any information I do not have regarding the inquiries—”

“Because why would anyone trust you with information?”

Once again, the Deputy Chief came to her superior’s defense, rushing into the round. “Your dangerous accusations will not be tolerated!”

Personnel Resources did not back down. “Homeworld was captured, and their first act was to poison our water so we could not read or feel!” “I gave _blood_ to retake Homeworld! I lost family—” “—and I lost friends to your Project Alpha Beta!” “Why do you think we are here? I did everything to break their hold in our office!” “Before Homeworld’s capture? Or after? Our world was unconquerable, and how can we be so sure that Project Alpha Beta did not—”

“Four-tongued snake!” The Deputy was at the edge of the round to confront Personnel Resource. “Respect me and my station!” The way telepaths fought made their words hard to follow because whatever spoken was a small fraction of what they had communicated.

“You will not order my obedience!” Eye change. This was the start of a battle. “ _Now feel what she felt in her final months_.” The table kept them from standing nose-to-nose.

Instead of watching the psychic combat, Nikolai observed the rest of the room. A Starfleet attaché jumped in front of the Chief while placing a hand on his head. Right. Skin-to-skin contact was the only way to extend protection. Every telepath shielding their colleagues left no one to break up the fight.

No one except him. He touched the failsafe’s scar for reassurance before rising from his seat.

By now, shouting had devolved to animalistic snarling with intermittent words. Taking the cane from his belt loop, he extended it to its full length and slammed the handle on the table with a sonorous, satisfying _CLANG_.

 _“Whatisit!_ ” They turned in unison. Blood poured from their noses to create crimson bears and stain the teeth they bore at him. Flecks of foam at their mouths.  Their eyes were like oblivion. They looked ravenous. If he had tried touching either, they might quarter him with their hands.

Nikolai stood his ground, straightening and squaring himself. No words. They’d learn soon enough.

The tell of every telepath. Deep furrows on both foreheads, petulant frowns, a little swaying, and then—that was that. Their eyes were back to normal. The nearest colleagues came to the department head’s aid, and Nikolai proffered a kerchief from his vest pocket to the Deputy. She cautiously took his offer and nodded a thank you, still squinting in confusion as she skulked back to her own colleagues.

As he sat down, Deforest whispered in his ear, “I have never been more proud of you.”

The confrontation served as a release valve for the room. Maybe one of the telepaths had been provoked by the sheer toxicity of emotions in the room. The Chief sounded raw. “Sec—Project Alpha Beta. This thing. This was a betrayal for all of us. It was a violation.” The holographic display showed some historical data.

For once, no one interrupted him. “In the past, we find all participants and—well, there are trials. Often conducted in secret. But there are not many trials.” The Chief fumbled about before finally moving away from euphemisms. “Most of them are killed when found.”

Understandable. During his first months on the Maryam to help his intense cabin fever, Nikolai daydreamed elaborate fantasies of revenge.

“We—no.” He took a deep breath. “ _I_ do not want to do the same as my predecessors. It does not work. It never works. We need transparency. The Council is in serious talks of—” he searched for the word “—restructuring—no.” He was fighting the urge to downplay the truth. “They want to remove many high-ranking members of our intelligence community from their posts and potentially turn Starfleet Intelligence inside out.”

The Deputy, having composed herself, rejoined. “We came here with a promise to the Council: we will take a new approach and agree to hearings, inquiries, and public litigation of every person involved. It is right that we are held accountable for everything.”

The proposal stunned the room. “If I may,” inquired Field Litigations, “this level of scrutiny would expose you in ways that cannot be predicted. You would burn your networks and have to rebuild.”

Those words seemed to age the Chief. “Yes. But these are dire times.”

Philia added, “We came to an agreement that, based on this formal request, the Consortium will take over all aspects of the investigation. We have been guaranteed full cooperation and the whole of Starfleet’s resources. If the Council accepts this proposal, then there is hope.”

The next image on the display outlined their plan. “Simply put, representatives from the Data Consortium and the Legal Consortium will work closely to coordinate all aspects of this inquiry, following the same standards and practices in place for working together.” Nikolai dipped in and out of listening as soon as they listed the first few requirements of Data’s representative: senior experience but not a currently serving as a department head, extensive field training—the rest became obvious.

Deforest had been summoned here to take up the mantle as Data’s inquiry lead; naturally, Nikolai was also invited so they could tell him right away to assume Deforest’s role within their department. The clearest choice: at only 50, Deforest Chiung could boast thirty years of service with the Consortium starting as the youngest human of any cohort. An agile and compassionate person who nurtured talent and managed his projects with the precision of an expert archer.

“Starfleet Intelligence is committed to providing every possible resource—” Nikolai would miss Deforest greatly in his new capacity, but this was an honor he could not imagine for anyone else. A crescendo to complete one’s career. As for Nikolai, the path was clear: he didn’t need his own legacy because he could build upon what was before him, and it would become _their_ legacy. Perhaps fifteen or twenty more years working with his volunteers and perfecting the project, and then his “retirement” would an emeritus position teaching the next generation at the Consortium’s school. He’d teach field engineering and hold lectures in the gardens when the weather was good. Students would try to distract him away from lesson plans by begging for stories about his life and sometimes they’d complain to each other about the smell of smoke in his office. He’d take an apartment on the campus, hold an informal dinner party with friends every evening, and fall into a deep and restful sleep each night….

“—Nikolai Florian Gastonovich LeVanne is our preliminary choice.”

The sensation of his heart skip a beat acquired another frightening layer since his surgery on the Maryam.  Cautiously, he stood up and nodded to the department heads. Curious murmurs rippled through the room, and he caught vexed expressions of the telepaths. He was equally surprised.

The Chief gestured for him to join the round. After the many years of practice which began when he joined Patime’s department, he stepped soundlessly. “Senior Analyst LeVanne, this meeting is an initial dialogue and the opportunity for the department heads to vet the decisions we have made.”

Clearing his throat, Deforest rose from his seat. He was unlike himself, stern and imposing. “My colleagues.” A few taps on a tablet. “Senior Analyst LeVanne is unlike anyone I will ever work with. The sacrifices he has made to the Consortium are, in my assessment, unparalleled. The dossier of his career is now available on your consoles. I do not feel the need to speak at length because I believe his work speaks for itself, and I believe it supports his candidacy as the Data Consortium’s representative.”

Silence as everyone reviewed their tablets, including the Starfleet retinue. Letting his eyes wander would make him come off as distractible. He stared into the middle distance in front of his empty seat. They had a great deal to say before, and they’d have a great deal to say now.

Internal Services. “You were the subject of a leak almost ten years ago, I see. Directly at the hands of a Starfleet liaison. Your handling of the leak was…well, unconventional. It seems that already, we have a problem: our representative, with good cause, may find reason to not follow Starfleet’s requests and take matters into his own hands.”

Deforest puffed up. “Analyst LeVanne’s strong relationship with the space station where he spent much of the War has mitigated any perception of prejudice. His own reports and debriefs from the collaborators paint the picture of a project lead who never deceived or misled his subordinates, valued their dissent, and encouraged their growth. I see nothing that would prevent him from cooperating in good faith with every other agency.”

“While that is reassuring, there are other matters regarding the leak to address. Perception of the Consortium within the other agencies is very negative. They see us as treacherous and terrifying, as if any one of us would slit our own family’s throats for an unredacted memorandum or be capable of fighting off a corps of infantry with little more than a length of razor-wire. The object was to project strength to those beyond our borders but within our own borders, we project tyranny.”

Deforest would not back down. “I understand, and I would like to remind our colleagues that Internal Services handled the leak such that we did not find a disruption in everyday work. We also restructured the project itself to allay any fears.”

“Well, that is very kind of you, but it became yet another tool for Project Alpha Beta to undermine us among all other organs of the government. And. I must say—Project Pi-314? _Honestly_. You should have considered a less contrived designation.”

Quality inquired, “Chief, you are not telling us the whole truth. I do not doubt that Analyst LeVanne is a fine civil servant, but he lacks the experience of a department head or even his own mentor. This dossier tells us nothing of this Project Pi-314 aside from its revelation caused turmoil within our government, and the intelligence we chose to share was—” he looked down at his tablet for a second “—a primer on the fundamentals of medical brutality. Is he _truly_ our best choice?” Nikolai expected cross examination with less criticism.

The Chief slapped a hand on his shoulder, and he held back the urge to discipline that action with an elbow to the nose. “Yes, well. There are two simple reasons. Part of our agreement barred anyone who had knowingly contacted or interacted with a member of Project Alpha Beta. Analyst LeVanne was the most senior in this pool.” Nikolai remember hearing about Deforest in an altercation with an identified operative but never pressed for more details. “The other is more tactical.”

The holographic display showed dozens and dozens of files. “This,” said the Chief, “represents a sample of the dispatches and cables we have collected which either mention Analyst LeVanne outright or allude to the project.” Nikolai became too distracted by the mesmerizing list to hear what else the Chief said. This confirmed everything that he and Deforest had long suspected, making him reflect on the luck and resources it took to smuggle away every one of the project members.

Risk Management interrupted, bringing him back to the present. “I, I must understand. Our plan is thus: the person that Project Alpha Beta has focused on will become the head of our investigative organ of this special inquiry. This inquiry will be transparent and public, elevating his name and maximizing his exposure and risk and perhaps making him even more desirable—ah, you agree—and by doing so, this will encourage those in hiding to reveal themselves.”

The Chief’s gloating response put a chill in Nikolai. “He will be irresistible. Why choose someone who will spend years seeking out a single operative when we can use him and they will crawl out of every crevice to find _him_?”

Patime’s response indicated her lack of confidence in him and the plan itself. “Not even a former department head? A _project manager_ was the most senior one among us who did not succumb to mass hysteria?”

Personnel Resources had cleaned up herself by now. “And you have full confidence in his ability to resist temptation?” She sized him up with a suspicious glance. “He is unreadable. I do not trust this. Is this strangeness a side-effect of this special project which makes him so desirable?”

“That should be obvious,” continued Risk Management. “But is he even ready for the task?”

“A project manager is not enough. We need someone with impeccable work and unimpeachable character.”

“No, no.” Risk Management’s stare could pierce glass. “He _will_ fail, somehow. Anyone in this position would fail, somehow. The question is one of character. Are his fatal flaws manageable? Can we predict that the mistakes he makes are ones we can remedy?

“He never took on a protégé, and I recall his record in our department adequate but unremarkable. Project details indicate ninety project subjects and one hundred support staff, but how much influence came from his mentor? A protégé is the clearest indicator of ambition and considering one’s legacy. What is your interest in the future, Analyst—Mr. Chiung, yes, yes, he _did_ assume full control of this Project Pi-314, and at the time suffered its only casualties.”

Nikolai bristled but held his tongue as Risk Management went on. “There are questions we need answered. Were these analysts _advised_ to take their lives? Did they _choose_? Our information on the project comes only from what was released in response to the leak, and these images are harrowing.” One of the images appeared on the display. It didn’t matter which one. His hardware was hurting again.

“Two years of, let’s be clear, torture. I assumed he spent everyday on the edge of a complete breakdown. And not to cast aspersions, but I must consider: Mr. Chiung, you personally recruited a young collegiate, advised him through the Consortium’s school, and took pains to bring him along in a move away from my department into your current one. And yet, over the course of two years, you did not notice a change in behavior? Some indication of an issue before he asked you himself to restructure?”

While Deforest forcefully argued the point, Nikolai felt a sweat bead roll down his breast. He kept his gaze to the ground, wishing to become smaller so no one would notice the flush of humiliation on his face. The way they discussed his suffering was almost as bad as living through it once before. And then bringing in his volunteers and how they were treated. He did his best. He did everything he could. Why did they insist on dissecting him?

Damn. Damn everything. This was the nightmare he had been trying to avoid through out his career. Reevaluation.

A question came to him directly. “Analyst LeVanne, would you please answer?”

He looked up with a shiver. “Please repeat.”

“Analyst LeVanne, why did three of your project members kill themselves?”

Tusark’s words came back to him. _It is inevitable to undergo reevaluation once in one's career_.

“Analyst. Please answer me.”

Sunshine disinfects. Reevaluation could be destruction by discovery, but at its core, the goal was purification. Remember the facts: Department heads are not cruel. Everything is a test. Everything is an opportunity to learn. “Because I failed them.”

Impressed murmurs. Risk Management nodded in encouragement for him to continue. Nikolai looked up, face still feeling hot and tight. Everything would be laid bare.  “I failed in my leadership. They feared members of Project Alpha Beta would kill them or worse, and this fear overtook any belief that I could protect them as their superior.” He imagined it was like losing one’s children. On the Maryam, many told him the pain would dull eventually. He wished it would dull sooner. “I apologize for this loss. I offer a commitment to understanding what caused the failure and striving to correct it.” Saying it aloud made it real. He failed. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Medicine and Biologics took over with more sympathetic line of questioning. “Mr. LeVanne, the Consortium in turn should also apologize. The dossier details eight known attempts on your life as a direct consequence of the leak. The fact also remains that the Consortium also failed you for allowing Project Pi-314 to begin in this way. You were asked to desecrate your body, and you did it in the service of others.” An unnerving pause. “Hm. I suppose I want to know if you hold any ill-will? Your record is one of unrelenting dedication to the Consortium. You never sought to retaliate against Starfleet.  Have you forgiven those who wrong you?”

Over ten years and still, he found no answer whether from Tusark or his project volunteers or the handful of books he had read over the years on why he felt what he felt.

“Analyst?”

His collar felt like a hot choke chain. His hardware was heavy. The question was meant as a boon. End this line of inquiry and say yes. By Providence, just say _YES_.

Rescue came from the newly-elevated head of the Ethics department, Alda Xun. In the whirlwind of free-flowing spirits and conversational entanglement, he hadn’t seen her. When she stood up, he could have fallen to his knees and kissed her feet in gratitude. “The more useful question is: does Analyst LeVanne display mercy? What is his capacity for compassion and benevolence?” Her habit of pacing about as she spoke hadn’t changed. “In my personal experience, these capacities have only grown over time, and it is remarkable when considering that such deep wounds as his would lead one to bitterness.”

Nikolai looked to the shaded windows as she continued, reflecting on the alternate path he could have taken. Unable to control his circumstances, he took out his frustrations on his targets. It was a dark time of his life; each death felt so very, very good.

“—My conclusion: his greatest contribution to Project Pi-314 was the culture he fostered which valued clemency and a deeper sense of applied ethics far beyond what is expected for his department. His project members are better people for knowing him, and this is a monumental accomplishment in a time when right and wrong become more complicated every day.” When in recovery, he loudly demanded active collaboration with Ethics on as many aspects of the project as reasonable. There was no higher cause: he just wanted to know that his volunteers would never experience what he had.

Field Litigations snorted. “Mercy and benevolence. This is a matter of justice. A promise to not execute targets on site is cold comfort. We have perfected our laws over generations, and yet our system remains imperfect. An ethical action may break our laws, and if so, he must still hold himself accountable as no one is above our laws.”

Quality wasn’t done either. “Analyst, understand: you are not the hand of vengeance. Any desire to act in such a way must be purged.”

Alda held her position. “Consortium Legal has selected three representatives, all of whom are without equals. We should consider our representative an interlocking piece—”

“But we are missing information. We speak of transparency, but what is the actual goal? Are we building a Committee of Truth and Reconciliation? I cannot support any decision without more, and I do not think our candidate should even accept the position until he has received the same.”  

“Then we should ask.” All eyes fell on him, and now his clothes felt like hot, grating mesh.

Philia was next to him, dark eyes seeming to reach into his brain. “Do you believe that you are an appropriate candidate to represent the Data Consortium?”

They pulled out his stuffing like he was a plush toy, and yet every single one now silently communicated the same message: Say yes.

 “No. But I believe that I could learn to be.”

“Then we shall continue at another time.” She turned to the room with a smile as the shades opened. “Thank you to everyone.” And that was that. Meeting over. As soon as Nikolai allowed himself to relax, his back and shoulders ached. Everyone else turned to each other and milled about, ignoring him as he kept standing stupidly in the round.

Deforest rushed from his seat and walked him to a corner opposite the great windows to give them some shadow. Nikolai only half-heard the apologies because he saw no reason for them: if the department heads didn’t know, it wasn’t possible that Deforest would know either. And whatever he did know to prepare for the meeting, he didn’t know the meeting. Nikolai learned years ago to trust that his friend chose not to tell him certain things right away for good reasons, often to protect them both. “Are you alright?”

“I am fine.” Aside from the weeping gash in his dignity. He felt the cigarette case slip into his hands and a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Chiung.” They turned to find Patime looking perturbed. “You will take over for Mr. LeVanne from now on as he must focus on his part until we have completed our process. All of his project work will fall to you.”

Deforest answered, “We crafted a plan for how to manage his projects in the event that he needed to pass them off.”

The fact did not appear to comfort her. “Well. Very good.” She gave a small, curt bow. “Gentlemen. I shall see you after the holiday.”

They waited for the room to empty. “I…I think she may be jealous. Professionally.”  This was not how he wanted to finish his day. “Come on. I suspect our party has only grown since we left. If not, I already caught our volunteers taking care of things for us. We can go to dinner.” His favorite place: a boathouse under Anshun Bridge. One of his first refuges in the early days of the project. A quiet place.

As soon as they walked out of the conference room, a gaggle of department heads ambushed them; many were the very same who had hammered him in their questioning moments before. They closed around Nikolai in a tight circle, separating him from Deforest.

This is how their professional lives would be from now on, wouldn’t it. Deforest gestured to the door. They’d meet at the boathouse. Nikolai caught the glimpse of a frown that wasn’t meant for anyone, certainly not him.

The department heads, on the other hand, acted differently from before. They praised him and all talked over the rest, both to him and each other to create a jumble of words from which a few coherent thoughts emerge:

_“Brilliant! Your processing will pass with perfect marks! Handle yourself like that each time--”_

_“—my doubts, but you did well. Keep your poise, you could be department head—”_

_“—a new department. They could make one just for you if you want—”_

And so on. Deforest was gone. He couldn’t keep him waiting. Already, his old life slipped through his flingers like wet noodles and threatened to disappear altogether. He couldn’t lose the people who had brought him back from the brink.

If anyone noticed, no one commented on him lighting a cigarette in its holder. The giant smoke plume he exhaled helped widen the circle. There was an opening. “Yes, of course,” he said vaguely, sidling through the gap. “Yes, yes, thank you, thank you. Very good.” He hustled down the hall where they had come from, not checking to see if anyone followed him.

He took a sharp breath to see Philia and her assistants because he couldn’t get used to this new way his heart skipped a beat. “Mr. LeVanne,” she greeted. He kept forgetting her small stature as her presence could take up an amphitheater _._

Licking his fingers, he pressed out the light on his cigarette. “Director—Ma’am.” He never expected to speak with her except briefly in some sort of commendation ceremony years from now.

“’Philia’ will do. Your concerted deference is not needed.” Joshi gave her a small black box. “Gifts like this one are often for department heads, but we routinely give them to anyone taking on special circumstances in how they serve our government.” She presented it with both hands, a sign of respect.

“Thank you.” He mirrored her, and for good reason as the box was large enough to hold a pair of shoes. Seeing her invitation, he opened the box.

A beautifully colored tiger inside made entirely of glass, presenting a fierce pose. Obsidian had been inlaid to accentuate the stripes. Jade eyes. A rather large figure, almost the size of his hand from wrist to tip. Along its side, in gold, were the Mandarin characters for the Consortium’s full title.

“I only ask that you take it with you when you travel. Place it wherever you are working so you may clearly see the name. Be mindful. It is quite delicate for all of its aggression.”

A reminder. The glass tiger could shatter, and the shards would go everywhere to create a thousand new problems. He couldn’t go back to his old life.

“I do apologize for the suddenness. But I believe we made a good choice in you. Deforest is right: you are unlike anyone else.” Her dark eyes glanced to the doors he very much wanted to leave through. “You will need to prepare for future meetings in our proceedings. He can’t help you next time.”

“Understood, ma’am.” He needed Tusark right away to teach him everything about reevaluation.

“I will give you a head-start for our next meeting. We will discuss the newest device created as part of your project.” Her next sentence made his heart sink. “The one you gave yourself and no one else.”

 _No secret can escape its light._ “…Of course, ma’am.”

She walked him to the door. “I hope that you will understand the need for such scrutiny of this kind.  The more we know, the more we can help you. This may feel like a kind of death.”

“Every surgery was a kind of death, Director.” An uncomfortable silence. “…Philia. Ma’am.”

Her smile felt like it was hiding so much. “Then you are more prepared than most.”

Every impropriety. The House of Holes. Vevi. The failsafe. Everything laid bare. “Thank you for the gift.”

She held open the door. “Your mentor is waiting. I will not keep you.”

He gave a small bow. “Have a good evening, ma’am.”

“Enjoy what you have, Nikolai.”

_\----------_

_All others were asleep except her fidgeting guest who clung to the table, fighting to keep awake. “What have you done to us….”_

_She came over to cup her guest’s face in her hands. “I have been holding his secrets for over ten years and I cannot take it. No one can know, even you, but I cannot take it.”_

_“Why this….” Any moment now, her guest would fall unconscious._

_“Because you cannot trust him. All his sins were forgiven for this special mission. He will use you. Just as he used me.” She let go, walking to the window. “You will forget the details, but when you wake, you will remember this message: Do not trust him.”_

_Vevi heard her guest slump over the table, knocking off the table._

_She had to warn them. After all these years, Nikolai LeVanne was in her dreams and in her nightmares. All these years, and somehow._

_He had found his way inside her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you kindly for finishing this journey with me. I hope that it was as satisfying to read as it was for me to write.


End file.
